The Zodiac Brave Story
by Xenoglossy
Summary: Novelization of Final Fantasy Tactics. I don't know how to better describe it. **The 'Manipulator and the Subservient' now finished!**
1. Introduction

FINAL FANTASY TACTICS NOVELIZATION: The Zodiac Brave Story  
Izzy Girl  
  
  
  
  
INTRODUCTION  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Why am I doing this?  
  
  
Well, I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE Final Fantasy Tactics, for one thing. The story and characters are amazing, and the way it's constructed struck me as excellent for a novel. But then again, I've felt this way about many, many games (I STILL want to write a Novelization of 'Tales of Destiny'!), what makes this different?  
  
  
While, the first problem has always been that to accomplish the task of Novelization, I would require the entire plot of the game to be on tape. Me, being lazy, have always been far to 'busy' to re-play a game for the sake of such an exhausting tape project... buuuuuut, since I do not own FFT, and loved it from the moment I began playing, I back tracked a bit and conviniently have every single spoken line (including the ones in battle) on tape in Movie form.   
  
The second problem is that almost every game I've played has featured one, two or more characters that I either absolutely HATED or felt no passion for whatsoever (ie: Tifa and Palmer, FFVII: Bruiser and Karyl, Tales of Destiny), but I was reasonably intruiged by everyone in Tactics enough that I am confident I can write from their POVs.  
  
  
So, based on my extreme obsession with the game and bordem of an extended Christmas vacation (21 days as opposed to the normal 18), I am going to do this if I have to kill myself. I think of it as good practice for when I'm thirty and holed up in some apartment in Sweden, desperately trying to finish a manuscript before my editor announces a deadline and murders me. Ah, my life is going to be so wonderful. I can't wait. ^ ^  
  
  
I am including some of my interpertations on the characters and relationships just to make the story a bit more interesting. I've designed this so that if you've never played the game, you can still read this internet-novel and get the jist of the story without even having to pick up the controller. In fact, I hope this inspires some to go play the game (because it kicks much arse). If you are a Tactics veteran, here follows a few of the changes that you might notice and yell at me for:  
  
* I wrote my 'extras' in. It just wouldn't be FFT without those random, faceless people who follow you around the entire game without a complaint... or even a single line! They aren't exceptionally large roles, but I give a few goods reasons that they're... well... there. So, for those of you who may know nothing about the game, Elitannia, Remington, Aston and Stefanaie have absolutely NOTHING to do with the plot. They just kind of follow Ramza around. I got the names from my actual party in the game. Despite the fact that they never did anything, they often saved my ass in battle (especially Stefanaie, who was an unusally resiliant little Black Mage) and I grew surprisingly attatched to them.  
  
* The Knight 'Alicia' from the beginning has suffered a name change. I will call her 'Alycya' for the sake of it sounding more... fantasy-ish. Besides, everyone I know pronouces it A-lee-ci-ah anyways (moreover because we all have a mutual friend named Alycya... though she goes by Lici). Anyways, I think it looks cooler. Not like she's a character of importance or anything...  
  
* Instead of losing their parents to the Black Plauge, Delita and Teta's farm was burnt down during the Fifty Year War. It's more dramatic that way. ^ ^  
  
* I kinda, sorta change Teta and Alma's ages as well... instead of being one year younger than their brothers, they are three years apart. So at the beginning of the story, they would be thirteen years old.  
  
* Rafa and Malak are twins. In the game, they look and act like twins, yet they're three or four years apart in age. This annoyed me and I thought that it would be neat if they were twins. Kind of like Pallom and Porom, except not... funny... and they have weird accents. Kind of a cross between English, African and Russian. It sounds cool in my head. ^ ^  
  
* Kletian is in his twenties. I played through the end of the game assuming that he was 21 or 22, then suddenly his character profile was all like: 'Kletian, the 30 year old Sorcerer'. I just don't buy it. He LOOKS about twenty and talks like he's twenty. Plus, his quasi-father worship of Rofel wouldn't make sense if he were 30 years old.  
  
* Having noticed that there aren't very many dark-haired people in the game, I decided to make up a reason for this! People with dark hair and light complexions basically would have been Murondic if the country had not been destroyed. In my mind, this makes sense, because the country has been dead for something like a thousand years, so it's natives would have been all but breeded out. Plus, ALL of the dark haired people are either orphans (Delita, Teta, Olan) or Shrine Knights (really, it's true!). I have a reason for doing this that will not become apparent until chapter three. Mwahahaha.  
  
* I can't remember how old Izlude is... or rather I don't KNOW, since I didn't look at his character profile until AFTER he was dead (oops, you didn't read that!), so I'm aging him at 19 since he had some pretty adult responsibilities, but Meliadoul talked about him as if he were a younger sibling.  
  
* I attempt to explain why Balmafula is acting like a mute at the end. Don't be cross with me.  
  
* I'm making Ramza a Pieces. I thought about this for a very long time, and I became quite annoyed that the game did not give him a birthday. In my game, he's a Libra (because, of course, I am... but he did not get MY birthday... I gave him Fox Mulder's birthday, actually. October 13th ^ ^), but since I want to make Zodiac a big deal in this novelization, I couldn't leave him as such for the following reasons: Mustadio is a Libra, and Mustadio and Ramza act NOTHING alike; and Ramza doesn't act like a Libra besides. The guy's personality changes dramatically between Chapters 1 and 4 anyways, but I FIGURE he's somewhat like a Pieces. It's not a sign I judge well, since I know half a million Pieces (I have several close Pieces friends, in fact) and they're all a-typical, in otherwards, they act NOTHING like their sign. So, Ramza is a Pieces. I think.  
  
  
Um, and that's about it!  
  
  
Oh, yes. Aside from 'Alycya the Knight', there is a reference hidden in every single extra's name. The first person to e-mail me with all of them will win something... either a drawing or a fic, you choose. ^ ^ Extras from the game such as Lavian and Rad don't count, and neither do Stefanaie, Remington, Aston and Elitannia.  
  
  
I would like to thank my creative consultants, fellow Tactics obsessees, Rebecca, Gregory and Cat who doesn't know anything about the game. Rebecca, for talking so passionately about the game for the past two years that the urge to play it suddenly came over me, and Gregory for showing me the absolutely BRILLIANT ending (hehehe, stabbity), then lending me the game. And illustrating to me the colorful use of the word 'pish posh'. Cat for convincing me that all Delita really needed was a hug. Oh yes, and Rebecca, Balmafula does NOT have a Sniper Wolf accent.  
  
  
I don't own any of these characetrs or situations. In fact, now that I really think about, writing this novelization, heck, writing fanfiction in general seems pretty pointless to me... oh well. ^ ^  
  
  
All hail the mighty Square!  
  
  
*sincerely  
Jennifer Lynne Sparky Young  
aka Izzy Girl  
aka Cephied Variable  
cephied_variable@yoishness.zzn.com  
http://www10.brinkster.com/cephiedvariable/carthesis  
ff.n ID #12217 (Izzy Girl) 


	2. Prolouge: Truth

PROLOUGE: "Truth"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Alazam Durai had spent the entire afternoon pondering his decision with doubt, and now as he shifted uneasily in his stiff, highbacked chair gazing out at the entire historical community of Ivalice, he was quite sure that he had made the wrong one. He flipped through the thin papers of his speech nervously, hardly noticing as even the chairs near the back of the lecture hall filled gradually. The low din of whispers, both excited and skeptical slowly began to die out and eyes turned towards the aged man at the front of the room. Alazam sighed and scanned the crowd for familiar faces.  
  
'If only they knew what I am about to tell them...' he thought ironically, 'Maybe then they wouldn't seem so... eager...'  
  
He shouldn't have hyped it up so. He made a mistake bragging about his discovery as being 'The Most Important Historical Discovery in Ivalice since the Germonik Scriptures'. He wasn't so sure anymore that destroying seven hundred years of history as he was about to do was such a wise idea. After all, most of the names he would be discussing in length hadn't even graced the pages of a textbook before. They were lost; swallowed up by time and human folly. Alazam wondered, perhaps it had been better that way.  
  
He eyed his speech once more, then he stood. The entire room fell quiet, bombarding Alazam with the weight of their expectation. So many would want to prove him wrong, perhaps even insist that he should be burnt at the stake for heresy, as medievil as the practice was. 'Well,' he chuckled inwardly, 'I won't be the first to burn for what I'm about to reveal'.  
  
He checked his courgae once more, then, with more certainty that he had thought himself capable of, began: "Everyone here knows the History of the Lion War, I assume." There was a low rumble of agreement. Alazam answered for them, "Of course you do. Even a child could recite the story of the stable boy Delita Hyral and his heroic rise throughout the ranks of Goltana's army until, finally, at the War's End he married the beautiful princess Ovelia and restored order to the land as King."  
  
'So far so good...' thought Alazam, 'But now here comes the hard part...'  
  
"Of course we all know that story... but how many here know the story of Ramza Beoulve?" silence, "Ah ha. Truth is subjective, my dear friends. History is not necessarily exact accounts of the events of the time rather than what events a historian chooses to pass down. Everyone knows the story of Delita Hyral the stable boy, but no one has ever heard of Ramza Beoulve. Well, I'll tell you who this mysterious induvidual was. He was the last of a highly repected family of Nobels during the Fifty Year and Lion Wars, the family, in fact, that history's favorite hero Delita Hyral was raised by. Ramza Beoulve was Delita's best friend and, by accounts that have been surpressed for nearly a millenia, a hero in his own right. Perhaps, despite what we have been taught by 'history's truth', Ramza was the REAL hero of the Lion War."  
  
Alazam paced, attempting not to falter. His audience was captivated. If he made it past the inroduction, he would have them, but this was crucial. Already, he could see eyebrows raising. He had to catch them in the story before it was too late. He stopped in the center of the stage and cleared his throat loudly.  
  
"The 'Durai Reports', telling a rather alternative side to the story of The Lion War, have been hidden from us by the Glabados Chruch since the war's end. They have recently been released under new laws robbing the Church of it's authority over such historic documents in intrest of social evolution. They were most reluctant to let this one go, but after a lengthy legal battle, I managed to obtain them and have spent the past three years studying and translating them. I am here today, ladies and gentlemen, to tell you only my findings. I ask no commitment from you and offer you no bias. You are simply here to listen to a story about a boy named Ramza..." 


	3. CHAPTER ONE: The Meager

CHAPTER ONE: The Meager  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I.  
  
'Princess Ovelia was a rather plain woman for royalty. Perhaps it was because of her isolted upbringing that she came off so honest. She was frank and caring, with none of that pompous bluster or graticious delicacy expected from one of her rank. She spoke softly and conciously and though she rarely smiled, her eyes had an intensity that cleary delievered the brevity of her words.'  
- The Durai Reports, Chapter XVII  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
'God save us, thy sinful children of Ivalice...'  
  
Ovelia Atkascha didn't hear the door open and close she was so lost in both prayer and thought. She didn't want to leave the Monastery. It wasn't that she would miss it terribly, nor was it that she was frightened of the world outside. She realized that if she left now, it would mean something. Her departure from solitude would be the first link in the chain reaction of war that loomed above the Kingdom. She didn't wish for her name to be associated with such a thing, even if so loosely as: 'The first battle of the Great War was fought shortly after Princess Ovelia was brought out of Orbonne Monastery and to Igros Castle.' The idea of it was enough to make her shudder.  
  
"Princess, we must leave. A storm is gathering."  
  
"Quiet, Captain Oakes. The Princess is praying."  
  
Ovelia sighed and stood gravely, smoothing her white skirts and turning reluctantly, "No Simon. I'm finished. It's quite alright, Agrias, you may rise."  
  
Captain Agrais Oakes, Holy Knight of the Hokuten nodded and rose, her calloused hand tense around the hilt of her sword. She was a serious woman who did an admirable job of masking her girlish beauty behind a mask of ridgid duty and honor. In fact, Ovelia had never even witnessed the woman so much as crack a smile in all the time they'd know each other. But, she was a loyal soldier and better than most men in a fight, Ovelia was grateful to have such a person in her confidence.  
  
"Are you sure about this, Ovelia. You know that you are always welcome here."  
  
Ovelia attempted to smile, but her mind was weighed down so that the burden prevented her. Instead she hugged the old priest soundly and whispered, "Thank you for worrying about me, Simon, but I'll be fine. This is necessary, anyways. We may still have a chance to prevent the war."  
  
Simon patted her back weakly, then detatched himself from the tangle of her arms. In his youth he had been a heresy examiner, but whatever malice one must posess for such a job had drained out of him years earlier. Only that mellow kindness natural to those so wholly devoted to God remained. But he worried.  
  
The Chruch doors flung open again, bringing with them the winds and rain that raged outside. Two young squires stumbled in, soaked and half falling down, both rubbing their arms in a vain attempt to warm themselves. They were mercenaries, and not exactly exceptional ones. The first hid relatively dark hair beneath a black cap. When he threw back his cheaply knitted travelling cloak he wore little more than hammered tin in ways of armor. The second was clad similarily, but he wasn't wearing a cap over his gold hair. Instead, it was tied at the back, or else left sloppily falling over his pale, boyish face. The first had sparkling, blue eyes. He could barely contain his excitment, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. First assignment, Ovelia assumed. They were always eager until their blades taste flesh. Or at least that's how it was in the stories. Perhaps these barbarians really enjoyed all the killing.  
  
The second mercenary boy, though, was anything but excited. He had soft, brown eyes. Their gaze was unfocused and blurry, as if he were either looking at something far off, or wasn't looking at anything at all. He brushed a gloved hand through his light hair carelessly, then sighed miserably, easing himself against the wall.  
  
Agrias spun and gave the two mishappen boys a severe glare, "And who exactly are you two?"  
  
The blue eyed boy leapt to attention almost before the words fell from her mouth, "Rad Tupper!" he answered, "And that's Ramza Rigul. We're mercenarys hired by Duke Larg to help escort the Princess!" he then bowed dramatically, stealing a gaze at Ovelia as he fell to his knees.  
  
Agrias scoffed, "We don't need help escorting the Princess to the Castle. Does Larg not trust me enough to deliver her safely?"  
  
Rad blinked, confused, "Um... well... you'll have to ask the Commander about that one. I don't know the exact specifics of this mission. It's just my first contract, you know."  
  
"And what about you?" Ovelia fixed the second boy with her gaze, "Ramza, is it? What do you know about my Uncle's intent?"  
  
Ramza stared at her for a few moments, as if he weren't sure that she was speaking to him, then answer quietly, "I don't know anything either."  
  
The doors swung open urgently before Ovelia could say anything else, and the winds pushed in the bleeding, limping figure of Alycya Whitoc. The Knight collapsed between Rad and Ramza, leaving the door slightly ajar. She spoke softly as the wind howled in the background.  
  
"Alycya!" Agrias rushed forwards and fell to her knees by the fallen woman's head.  
  
"Captain Oakes!" Alycya gasped, grasping the wound in her side "There are strange Knights here. They say that they were sent for the Princess! Hurry. Lavian and that Mercenary can't hold them for long. They'll break through!" with a last effort, she pressed a dirt-soaked piece of parchment into Agrias's hand. And then, she was dead.  
  
Ovelia watched helplessly as Agrias sighed and tucked the paper away into a safe pocket. She knew what it was, a Soldier's will. A short list of wishes to be fufilled by their commanding officer in event of their death. Ovelia wanted to cry. All of this was her fault.  
  
"Well, Rad, Ramza. I pray to Ajora that you two are good in a fight." Agrias looked at Alycya one last time, then rushed out of the door, drawing her sword as she ran. Rad and Ramza glanced at each other. Rad was nervous, but Ramza seemed rather indifferent as they followed the Hokuten Captain into the storm.  
  
Only after the doors fell shut did Ovelia allow herself to fall by Alycya's body and grab her clammy hand. She checked desperately for a pulse, then cried out in fustration.  
  
"If only I had been admitted into Gariland instead of sent here!" she cried, "Maybe then I could have known the spell to save this woman's life!"  
  
Simon placed a gnarled hand on her shoulder and shook his head, "I did attend Gariland, Princess... Alycya's wound was far too advanced for even the most expirienced Mage to heal. I'm sorry, but this was not your fault..."  
  
  
*  
  
  
The fighting was over by the time Agrias, Rad and Ramza reached the church's gates. Lavian cradled her left arm, but other than that she seemed well off. Agrias sheathed her sword and examined the uniforms of the dead men.  
  
"Black Lion crests." she scoffed, "Is Goltana an idiot!? Is he trying to start a war?"  
  
"I'd say war is inevitable at this point." A dark man emerged from the shadows, his tall body clad in the armor of a Dark Night. He was old, but strong looking. He smiled deviously and continued to wipe the blood off his sturdy sword.  
  
Agrias's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed to a contemptuous glare, "Gaff Gafgharion." she spat, "So you're the one Larg sent to spy on us."  
  
"That was an uncalled for comment, Lady Oakes. Why would Larg wish to spy on you? You both want the same thing, after all. To see the Princess Ovelia safely to Igros Castle. Why so suspicious?"  
  
"These are suspicious times." Agrias mumbled, then she glared at Gafgharion, "You didn't have to kill them, you know. That was a bit extreme. Now we've suken to their level and given them justification for their actions. How can they not help but lash out against us, after all, if we slaughter them so easily without any forethought?"  
  
Rad and Ramza watched the proceedings speed by them half in awe, half in dismay. Rad tugged on Ramza's shirt sleeve and mouthed. 'Do they know each other?' Ramza shrugged, then returned his attention to the argument.  
  
"I was simply following orders."  
  
"Well, you could have at least left one alive for questioning. Now we don't even know what they wanted with the Princess!"  
  
"Isn't it obvious? They wanted her dead!"  
  
"But we don't know that! Next time, be a bit more careful."  
  
Gafgharion let his sword fall to one hand, the other clutching a bloody cloth, "I'm not paid to follow YOUR orders, Captain Oakes." he hissed.  
  
Agrais seethed, her hand instictively twitching towards her sword, "You basted..." she growled, "I..."   
  
Before either Agrias or Gafgharion could make anything of it, a scream pierced the night. The small gathering turned their heads with alarm towards the Monastery and Agrias's face fell.  
  
"Ovelia..." she breathed, paling, then began a full throttle sprint towards the Chruch. Lavian stumbled after her, clumsy over her still drawn sword.  
  
"Sir, should we follow?" Rad looked at Gafgharion, lost.  
  
"Of course." the older mercenary grumbled beneath his breath, obviously peturbed over his conversation with the Captain Oakes. Without saying another word he jogged after the two Knights.  
  
  
*  
  
  
"No, let go of me! Unhand me!"  
  
"Be quiet. I'm not going to hurt you."  
  
"I don't believe you! Let me go before I scream!"  
  
"Go ahead, it doesn't matter. I'm going to rescue you whether you want me to or not."  
  
Ovelia paused in her struggle for a moment and looked long and hard at the man who was trying to kidnapp her. He wasn't really a man, a boy really. He couldn't have been any older than seventeen, but he was tall and intense and threatening with his long, dark hair slicked back against his neck and his penetrating gaze.  
  
"What do you mean... rescue me?" she asked slowly, catiously testing his limits.  
  
"I meant a rescue."  
  
"We're you sent by Goltana to kill me?"  
  
"No."  
  
"But I thought..."  
  
"I don't have time to exaplin it right now. Just cooperate with me, okay?"  
  
Ovelia altogether stopped walking, causing her captor to fall back a few steps. He tighthened his grip on her wrist and spun to regard her angrily. No, not angrily... Ovelia had a difficult time reading the young man's expressions. He might have been mildly irritated, but he most certainly wasn't furious.  
  
Ovelia heard footsteps pouding above her, and familiar voices. Her spirits lifted as she realized that it was a sign from God. He had sent her rescuers at the exact moment she had decided to give up. "AGRIAS!" she shouted, "HE'S TAKING ME OUT THE BACK ENTRANCE! AGRIAS! HELP!"  
  
The kidnapper sighed sufferingly and muttered, "You're very annoying for a Princess, you know that?" before punching her in the stomach. Ovelia inhaled deeply, but found no breath. As she fell into the dark boy's arms, her world went dark.  
  
  
*  
  
  
'Please God, tell me I've not lingered too long. Tell me I've made it in time. Tell me I've saved her...'  
  
Only the mercenary boy named Ramza kept Agrias's pace all the way down the seven flights of stairs to the back entrance of the Orbonne monastery. She ran as swift as she ever had, mind racing so that it beat the sides of her skull. Her brian was trying in vain to piece it all together. Larg sending Gaff Gafgharion of all people to keep an eye over her, Goltana's kidnap attempt on the Princess.... was it really Larg's intent to put Ovelia on the throne, or did the government see it as too convinient a solution to the problem? The country seemed hell bent on civil war... it was rather sickening.  
  
The kidnapper was latching an unconcious Ovelia to the back of a Chocobo when Agrias finally burst through the door at the exit. She drew her sword and was about to rush forwards when Ramza grabbed her shoulder to hold her back. She turned about to ask him what the hell her was doing, but the boy looked as if he had seen a ghost. When Agrias looked back to the kidnapper, he had already mounted the Chocobo. He brought his steed around and adressed Agrias.  
  
"Dont blame us." he said, "Blame youself... or God." he chuckled sharply and ironically, then had the chocobo jump the walls of the chruch, effectively escaping.  
  
Agrias made and fist and lashed out at the stones of Orbonne, "Damn!" she turned on Ramza, cornering him between the open door and the wall, "What was that? Why did you let him get away!?"  
  
Ramza shook his head slowly, "I... I'm sorry. I... I know the kidnapper... or... rather I did..."  
  
Agrias sighed, the fight gone from her. She rolled her head back and stared at the sky. The storm had calmed and the skies were clearing, the clouds lolling from view to reveal a half moon. She closed her eyes and let her sword clatter to the ground. Her shoulders relaxed and she whispered two words to the night sky.  
  
"Oh God..."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
II.  
  
'The Gariland School located in the Magic City that it is named for was a pristegeous institution designed for the rich. Although it offered the best education around, it had a horrible practice of producing classist graduates. It was discontinued near the beginning of the Lion War, but restarted some years afterwards... but with one difference. It is now open to all those with a desire to learn.'  
- The Durai Reports, Chapter II  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Though it was barely into the first week of January, Ivalice hadn't seen snowfall since the year before and had hardly felt the chill of winter. Ramza Beoulve thought this was all very strange as they usually saw blizzards before Autumn had finished dropping it's leaves. Most said that the odd weather meant ill tidings and Ramza was tempted to agree with them. Although it was the day after Winter leave, the student's conversations were not focused on family events or talk of Solstice gifts. Rather, they spoke of the tensely of the troubles plauging the land.  
  
"Another trade cart to Igros has been attacked." Remington Orvius ran a hand through his twany hair as he spoke, "It leaves me wondering who would have the audocity to attack a caravan so close to the castle."  
  
"The Death Corps, who else?" snorted a tall Chemist, rolling her pretty blue eyes.  
  
"Something big is definitely brewing." Delita Hyral commented calmly from where he was leaning nochalantly against the wall, arms crossed and gaze even.  
  
Ramza glanced at his friend sharply, "Do you know something, Delita?"  
  
"Of course. Prince Larg is in town, didn't you hear? And the Marquis Elmdor of Limberry too. Both heading the Igros castle along the trade lines. Don't you think it would be beneficial for the Death Crops to capture such high profile hostages?"  
  
"Where did you hear all that?"  
  
Delita smiled the barest of grins, "Don't you ever listen, Ramza? It's all your brother talked of over Winter leave."  
  
Ramza blushed pink and Remington laughed borrishly, patting Ramza hartily on the back, "And you should blush! To think that the 'stable boy' knew anything you didn't! What a shame!"  
  
Delita's eyes narrowed dangerously and focused on Remington. He said nothing, but the blonde cadet got the message, shrinking instinctively. Delita may have been a commoner by birth and physical apperance, but he had been raised a Beoulve which still coveted quite a bit respect among his fellow students. Besides that, he was an excellent student and eveyone knew it didn't pay to get on a good student's bad side lest the need to call in a favor of sorts during a particularily tricky exam arose.  
  
"I was just making a joke, Hyral. Really. You shouldn't take things so seriously all the time."  
  
If Delita had been planning to make any sort of retort at all, it was cut short by the booming thud of the doors swining open at the back of the classroom. The students hastily fell into place saluting as the old Knight Rand limped his way up the center of the isle and sat at his desk.  
  
"At ease." he sighed and glowered out at his students as was his custom. After a moment, he stood and placed his hands on his hips, eyeing the cadets with as much disdain as his wrinkled face could possibly muster, "You have an assignment." he grumbled, "And it may be your last if you fail to prove yourself here." Rand had a bad habit of being unable to say more than two sentances without degrading or threatening his students in some manner. It wasn't terribly crushing, and many insited it's what made him a good instructor.  
  
Nevertheless, the first statement held it's weight and the classroom erupted in excited banter and murmers. Rand slammed his fist against his desk to silence the class and win their attention again, then continued, "As you know, Barbarian activity has recently increased in Gallione, especially in the city of Gariland. You cadets are to join the main attack units and help in any way possible, even if it means staying out of the way. Now, be warned that you are being marked on your performance in both battle and following orders. Think of it as an early exam."  
  
Delita leaned over and whispered behind his hand, "They're rushing us out of the academy early because with the King dying, another war is brewing. The Hokuten don't want to lose ground with Nanten."  
  
Ramza blinked and turned to look at Delita, "What makes you think that?" he whispered back.  
  
"It's obvious, isn't it? All the royalty that supports Larg fortifying itself at Igros castle? Our term doesn't end for another four months yet they're graduating us today all of a sudden? Think about it, Ramza. The pieces fit."  
  
Ramza pulled away and looked at the teacher innocently. Delita had that amazing talent that allowed one to carry on a conversation during class without the teacher noticing that their attention had strayed, but Ramza found himself berated by his instructors for not paying attention more times than he cared to count. But even as he half-listened to Rand state battle tactics and placement orders his mind was processing what Delita had just been speculating.  
  
War brewing? The country had just settled a war no more then five years earlier. What were they doing starting another one? Ramza had been briefed on the cause, of course. The Prince, being no more than a year old, was of course, not fit to take the throne after the King's Illness eventually killed him. The whole quarrel was over who the regent would be during the Prince's upbringing. It was pointless, really, since whoever was chosen wouldn't have the same power as a King and his rule would be little more than a decade long, but despite the futility of it, nobles and Knights were already choosing their sides and placing their bets. But it just didn't make sense... graduating under-experienced students for the sake of increasing an army? The final few months of Battle School were the most important, as they focused rigorously on actual combat situations rather than combat theory. Sending cadets out into a real war with such gaping holes in their education was foolish. They would simply be slaughtered by the first sword that found them. They might as well not even be there.  
  
But Delita was right. Nothing else seemed to make sense. Anyways, Ramza remembered enough of the portion of the Fifty year wat that had happened during his childhood to know that sometimes, if the threat was war, even the most clever of leaders made some very stupid decisions.  
  
"The first group of you will be sent out almost immedietly. You have exactly fifteen minutes to return to your barracks and prepare yourselves for battle. As this IS a true battle, and not just a simulation as you would have otherwised experienced, it is possible for you to die and you will have to kill to survive. If you want to drop out, I'd advise you do it now."  
  
"Ah. There's the catch." Delita seemed unimpressed, "It's one of those 'kill or be killed' deals they're sending us into. They're not only forcing us to graduate... they're forcing us to grow up." he sighed, then finally turned his dark gaze onto Ramza, "Well, I suppose we're part of the first squad. 'Now or never', hmm? We could always just skip the battle and go home now, you know. They'll graduate us anyways and your brothers would never know."  
  
"Never!" Ramza exclaimed, "I want to fight! I could never live with myself if I didn't!"  
  
Delita shook his head sadly, "I thought you'd say something like that..."  
  
  
*  
  
  
Each squad was compiled of six students, four squires and two chemists. Not as many students got into chemistry, since a career in magic meant an extra two years at school and it was seen mostly as a female profession. Ramza's squad was made up of himself, Delita, Remington and his lady friend, and two younger upper-years that Ramza was not familiar with. The last squire was distinctive since he happened to be the only other upper classman with dark brown hair besides Delita, but Ramza had never heard his name spoken. The other chemist was a spunky looking girl with long, dirty blonde hair and a self-satisfyed smirk plastered across her impish face. She was the only one not standing still. She had the hat of her chemist uniform stuffed in her medic bag and was pacing impatiently, constantly adjusting her skirts as if she were not comfortable wearing a dress. She sighed every so often and would avert her gaze hopefully over the rooftops.  
  
"How long do we have to wait? I thought they were going to thrust us out into the heat of battle!"  
  
"Well, no. That would defeat the entire purpose of setting up a trap." the pretty chemist's voice was ineffectual and cold. She barely glanced at the other girl as she said these words. The long haired chemist glared and without verbal retort she stuck her tounge out childishly.  
  
"Well... we have been waiting for a long time..." Ramza sighed, "Maybe the teachers predicted wrong. Maybe they're not coming."  
  
As if to prove Ramza's words wrong,a head popped into veiw over a roof, illuminated in the late evening sun. It looked around, then dissapeared again. Ramza held his breath hoping that the scout hadn't seen where his squad was huddled in the alleyway, but sure enough a moment later a whistle sounded out through the narrow street. Four youngish-looking theives rounded the corner, laughing and pushing each other merrily.  
  
"They're so young." Ramza muttered, looking at Delita, "They can't be any older than we are."  
  
Delita had obviously been thinking the same thing, and nodded somberly, "Yes. But they must be Death Corps otherwise we wouldn't have been sent out."  
  
"Enough with the moral dilemmas, you two." Remington hissed, "Let's just take them and get it over with!" he jumped out, slinging his beaten sword over his shoulder casually. He spread his feet solidly and smirked at the thieves as the rest of the squad filed out reluctantly behind him.  
  
"Not so fast!" he shouted, "We can't let you just pillage without penalties! Prepare to face our wrath!"  
  
The tall chemist slapped her forehead. The dark haired boy raised an eyebrow and the younger chemist giggled slightly. Ramza too could barely supress his own laughter, but Delita just rolled his eyes and pushed forwards.  
  
"Look." he said, "Nothing personal but we've got an exam to pass."  
  
The boy who seemed to be in lead of the group sneered nastility, "So you're from the school, eh? What can a bunch of snot nosed kids like you do?"  
  
"Hey!" Remington swung his sword over his shoulder and gripped it tensly in both hands, "Take that back! We're nobles! Sir Goldilocks back here is a Beoulve on top of it, so you'd best not mess with us!"  
  
Ramza chaffed a bit at being called, 'Sir Goldilocks', but appreciated that his family name was so recognized and respected that it should be used as a threat. He stepped up so that he was standing between Delita and Remington. The theif leader looked him up and down, then snorted.  
  
"Doesn't look like much. Besides, what have the Beoulves ever done for us? I mean, yeah sure, that old coot Dycedarg and bloody general Zalbag won some medals in the War, but they're still coin grubbing bastards like the rest of them!"  
  
Ramza reeled back as if he had been hit, feeling his ears burn in both fury and embarassment. How could anyone ever talk about his brothers like that! They were different from other nobles. They were brave and good and just to everyone, not just the family! He recoiled, this time clutching his sword and fire burning in his eyes.  
  
"You'll pay for what you just said." he growled menacingly, "And who are you? No one cares who YOU are. Surrender now, or die in obscurity!"  
  
There was no giggling to answer this cliched threat, because Ramza was quite serious. He charged the thief leader abruptly before the boy had time to gaurd. He hit him with the broad side of his sword instead of the sharp by accident, but still the thief was sent reeling. Ramza swung the sword back up to bring it down on the other boy, but the thief was quick and more battle weary. He dug a thin knife into Ramza side and the squire fell into half darkness, sending his sword flying.  
  
'It can end that quickly?' Ramza thought disjointedly, 'Is that it? I'm dead?' he closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of battle around him, 'Dycedarg... Zalbag. I'm sorry I was such a failure...'  
  
"I wouldn't count on it yet, Sir Beoulve." an irritated voice broke through his reviere. Ramza blinked his eyes open and found that he was being streinously dragged off to the side of the battle, into the alley. He then felt stupid for being so melodramatic. Now that he thought about it, it didn't feel like a serious wound and, afterall, the teachers had sent chemists with them for a reason.  
  
"Was I... speaking out loud?" he asked abashedly as the chemist bent over her bag and began mixing potions. It was the younger one. The one with the long hair and cynical smile.  
  
"Everyone speaks out loud if they're pampered and think they're dying."  
  
"You don't seem to be in good humour."  
  
"I'm not." The chemist replied sharply, "I don't exactly enjoy fixing wounds. I don't understand why you have to take this stupid medic course if you want to be a Wizard. It doesn't do well to learn how to save lives if all you're going to use it for is to learn magic to kill people."  
  
Ramza decided that it would be better not to answer. He let her fix his wounds in silence, then thanked her softly.  
  
"Hmph. Looks like that idiot Aston's getting himself into trouble. Don't get yourself killed again, Sir Beoulve. I only have so many potions, you know, and I can't be wasting them on people like you who can take care of themselves."  
  
Ramza nodded and the chemist ducked off, trying to make it to her fallen ally without being noticed. When she was gone, though, Ramza didn't leap back out into battle. Instead he leaned against the corner of the wall and watched the fighting. It was mostly over now. The others had felled three of the thieves and only Delita and Remington were fighting still. The tall chemist was sitting on a stone watching much like Ramza was while the other treated the dark haired squire.  
  
Delita knocked his opponent over with fluid ease. Ramza couldn't tell if the theives were dead or just unconcious. No one seeemed to have spilt blood except for him. He recieved his answer when Remington kneed his thief in the stomch rather than slashing at her. She crumpled to the street like a broken doll, but Remington seemed displeased with himself for having beat on a girl.  
  
Ramza emerged from hiding, limping slightly, which he hadn't expected. He stumbled out into the center of the square where the others seemed deeply emerged in coversation.  
  
"I'm sorry..." he said.  
  
"Don't be." Delita caught him as he tripped, "You were wounded."  
  
"That wasn't any minor cut." The long-haired chemist nodded gravely, "If that thief had been half competent it might have been fatal."  
  
"Besides." Remington added, "It wasn't much of a fight. We just knocked them down. Now we've got to get out of here before they wake up."  
  
"So they weren't Death Crops after all."  
  
"No, just children like us." Delita sighed, "We weren't really expected to do serious battle. The city just wants us to clean out the crime before we leave and go off to war to get killed."  
  
"So we didn't kill any of them?"  
  
"Well... not on purpose, of course." The dark haired squire scratched his head and smiled nervously.  
  
"When you fell, your sword continued it's momentum and caught the theif leader in the jugular." Delita didn't look at Ramza, but at the dead thief, sprawled awkwardly, face first into the stone with blood slowly collecting in a pool around his body. Ramza looked there too, and swayed again.  
  
"So... I... killed him?"  
  
"Well... your sword did at least." Remington chuckled fakely, "I'm sure it wasn't intentional on your part.  
  
Delita agreed, "No need to worry over it, Ramza. It was an accident."  
  
"Anyways, you're the only one who actually followed orders here. That'll automatically give you the highest mark!" The dark haired squire piped up helpfully.  
  
Ramza nodded deftly, but he knew the truth. It had been his intent to kill the theif. Though it hadn't been his hand that guided that sword through until it sliced the boy's neck, he was the hand that began the motion and orchestrated the motion's intent. Whatever they said, Ramza had killed the thief.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
III.  
  
'Funny that the Beoulve name, know for centuries in the history texts as a family of great heroes, should die out in both memory and sons in the very age that one of it's members dared to forget that he was a noble and do something worth writing down though it will be long regarded as the wrong thing to do. I hope that one day someone will recognize the irony in this and laugh as I have cried over it. I have little hope that this will happen during my lifetime.'  
- The Durai Reports, Chapter IV  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ramza had a strange dream that night. He dreamt that his father was alive again, but at the end of his life and on his death bed. He wasn't seeing the scene form his own eyes, but rather he saw the room and everyone in it as if he were a bird nestled in the high rafters, watching.  
  
Zalbag held father's hand and Alma held his. Dycedarg paced as the chemist took father's temperature and seemed almost anxious. Ramza was certain that this was important. Why hadn't he noticed this before? Or was Dycedarg's nervous manner simply an invention of the dream.  
  
When the chemist was finished, she excused herself from the room. Zalbag waited until she was gone to speak.  
  
"Where's Ramza." he said darkly, "He's always off when we need him most."  
  
"Brother." Alma tugged on Zalbag's shirt sleeve and he sighed.  
  
"I'm sorry, Alma. I guess I'm just tense. Father might not..." he cut himself short when he noticed that Dycedarg had stopped pacing and was giving him the death glare.  
  
"It's fine..." father croaked, his voice cracked and damaged, all but gone. He sounded nothing like the great Balbanes Beoulve of ledgend. He was nothing more than a dying old man in this bed, "I won't make it through the night. Even I know that."  
  
Zalbag hung his head and Alma sniffled. Dycedarg began pacing again.  
  
"Tell me Zalbag, did they accept the treaty?"  
  
"Please father. Let's not talk about the war now. You're not well."  
  
"I've been not well for a long time, son. I want to pass away with the certainty that my children will not have to waste their best years locked in warfare as I have. Now tell me, Zalbag. Did they accept the treaty!"  
  
Zalbag opened his mouth to answer, but Dycedarg beat him to it, "Of course. They agreed not to invade Zeltennia and agreed to peace talks next month. Before the year is out, the War will be nothing but a memory."  
  
Father breathed a deep sigh of relief and loosened his grip on Zalbag's hand, "That's the kind of news a man could wake up to every morning. You three are going to live the full lives I never had a chance at."  
  
This idea made his children sad. They fell silent, except for the soft plodding of Dycedarg's pacing. Soon, a new noise interrupted the scene as the sound of footsteps echoing grew closer and Ramza saw himself enter, flinging himself through the door and to his father's side. He knelt beside the bed and buried his head in the sheets.  
  
"Ah, now you are all here, and I can go in peace."  
  
"Don't say that." Ramza murmered, "You can't die yet."  
  
"Ramza, grow up to be a just man." father's voice dwindled as he spoke, "I have more war heroes as sons than I know what to do with. I expect nothing more from you than to grow up with admirable morals. Never tolerate injustice, Ramza."  
  
Ramza nodded through his tears, though the Ramza that watched could see that this boy here, an earlier version of himself, did not understand what his father was asking of him. But he understood it now, he understood all of it. Even Dycedarg's pacing. though he wasn't sure what exactly it meant. But he understood that Dycedarg wasn't just, and he understood that Zalbag knew nothing of the way nature worked. Neither of them were Balbane's true sons depsite their battle skills and multiple honors. Balbanes was simply asking Ramza to be his son.  
  
"One more thing, Ramza. Delita's a good boy. Never take him for granted. You should always treat him well. I consider him my son, you should all think of him as your brother."  
  
Ramza nodded again, his sobbing having subsided. "Of course father." he managed, "I always thought of Delita as my brother."  
  
"I'm glad." Balbanes smiled his wide, gracious smile one last time and then he died.  
  
When Ramza awoke, he was almost surprised to find himself staring at the bottom of someone else's bunkbed in the barracks at Gariland. He wasn't sure where he felt he was supposed to be, but school wasn't it. Then he remembered that he was going home the next morning. He settled himself down into his pillows and pondered his dream. It had been vivid, of course, because it was mostly memory. His mother had always said that dream-memories show themselves to you only because they contain messages and information that you were incapable of picking up on at the time, but will prove useful in the future. Ramza always believed anything his mother told him, so he made sure to tuck the dream away into his subconciouness so that if any of the messages revealed themselves in the near future, he would recognize them. This done, he closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
IV.  
  
'I'll never undertand the obsession with rank. In the end, it doesn't describe the sum of a person's in-born abilities. Neither Delita Hyral or Vormav Tingle were born nobles, but both shook the foundations of Ivalice with their cunning and ambition for years to come.'  
- The Durai Reports, Chapter II  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When Ramza awoke Remington had already packed and left on his way home. Delita was folding shirts on the bed across the room and to either side of him sat a nearly filled travelling pack. Ramza yawned and sat up lethargically, rubbing his eyes and muttering, "You didn't have to pack my bags, Delita..."  
  
Delita continued folding the clothing and said nothing.  
  
"You're not a servant, you know. You don't have to pack my bags."  
  
Delita sighed and turned around to face Ramza, placing his hands on his hips. Ramza couldn't help but giggle. It reminded him far too much of how Zalbag used to act as a child when he was trying to be mature. This caused Delita to crease his brow.  
  
"I'm not packing your bags because I think I have to. I'm packing them because it's nearly noon and I was worried you were going to stay in bed for the rest of the day."  
  
Ramza stopped laughing and fidgited, "Uh... sorry. I didn't sleep well last night."  
  
Delita nodded sagely, and went back to the unpacked clothing, "I guessed as much." he paused tenatively, then said, "I retrieved your sword from the street and washed it. I knew you probably wouldn't want to see it."  
  
"Actually... I wasn't thinking about that..." Ramza eyed his sword catiously. It was laid haphazardly on the floor between his bed and Delita's, sheathed and clean, "I was thinking about the day my father died."  
  
Delita stopped folding clothes for a moment. His shoulders knoted and he froze up, "Why? What made you think of that?"  
  
Ramza wished that he could take the words back. Delita didn't like talking about the late Balbanes. Ramza would never understand why, but usually he honored his friend's feelings, "It was nothing really... I just had a strange dream."  
  
Delita's shoulders relaxed and he folded and packed the last few shirts. He then sat on the bed and stared at Ramza blankly, "Really."  
  
"Yeah... it was more like a memory. I don't think it was anything important, except..."  
  
"Except what?"  
  
Ramza wracked his brain but couldn't think of a suitable way to explain the feeling he got from Dycedarg's pacing. He didn't want to tell Delita about what his Mother used to say about dreams because it sounded silly even to him now that it was morning. So he dismissed it, "I don't know. It was just stupid. I was upset." Delita blinked at him expectantly with a gaze that said, 'You're a very bad liar, Ramza Beoulve', "We'd better leave anyways, if we're going to walk all the way home. At this rate we'll not make it home until tommorow morning!"  
  
Delita laughed, the subject sucsessfully changed, "And who's fault would that be?"  
  
Ramza shrugged, "Not mine."  
  
  
*  
  
  
Algus Sadalfas couldn't stop knotting his hands togther nervously. He focused furiously on the floor of the extravagant carriage and tried his best not to so much as glance at the man sitting opposite of him.  
  
'What am I doing here? What luck has smiled upon me?' he felt subdued and giddy all at once. When he joined the Aegis Knights he never suspected to recieve such a comission before even reaching the rank of Knight. He wanted to leap up and shake the hand of the Marquis Elmdor, who sat no more than a foot away, but he knew that he must keep court ettiquette. If he messed this up, there'd be no chance to ever restore his family honor and rank.  
  
"Cadet Sadalfas, wasn't it? This is your first post, am I wrong?"  
  
Algus's eyes shot up in horror. Was the Marquis Elmdor actually SPEAKING to him? He was suddenly paralyzed. If he didn't reply, the Marquis would think him rude and uncouth... but what could he ever say to the 'Silver Ogre'? The Marquis was a war hero at a time when his grandfather was nothing more than a memory of a dog. A curse on the tounge of young soldiers.  
  
Algus screwed his courage to a sticking place and said clearly and loudly, "Yes. This is my first post, and an honor it is to be here!"  
  
The Marquis's expression did not chance. The man brushed a lock of silver hair from his face and continued, "You're the grandson of Uther Sadalfas." Algus's heart fell. It was a statement, not a question. There was no way for him to defend himself against it. He hung his head.  
  
'My career is over before it's even begun...' he despaired silently, 'If only I could simply change my surname and have it be done with. Will I forever bear my Grandfather's mistake like a chain?'  
  
But the Marquis wasn't done with him, "Don't look so dissapointed, Cadet Sadalfas. I will not judge you on your ancestor's actions. A man is not the sum of his forefather's, despite what some believe. I will not judge you a bad man or a good one until your actions have proved you to be either."  
  
Algus breathed a sigh of relief and straightened up again. Now that he knew he had the Marquis approval he was not afraid to look him in the eye. In fact, he studied the former war general with great intrest. The man was tall, lithe and muscular. He was not only strong looking, but calm and collected. Perfectly self assured of the power he weilded.  
  
'I want to be like him.' Algus affirmed. He disliked the tendancy he had to collapse into a bundle of nerves whenever a noble looked at him funny. He had the approval of the Marquis Elmdor of Limberry and that's all that mattered to him. From now on he would be confident and cool, even when speaking to war heros and nobles.  
  
Suddenly, the carriage stopped. Algus looked around in shock and a pale faced Knight opened the door.  
  
"What's happened?" The Marquis demanded.  
  
The Knight flinched, "Uh... we've experienced some difficulties." he answered shakily.  
  
"What difficulties?"  
  
"Well... we're being attacked..."  
  
"Is it the Death Corps?" The Marquis demanded. When the Knight nodded, he pushed him aside and bounded out of the carriage door motioning for Algus to stay put. The carriage door swung open and Algus wavered for a moment, hand on his blade hilt. He should probably obey the Marquis's orders, but what kind of a man would he be if he sat by idly while the rest of his squad fought to protect their commander? A good one, or a bad one?  
  
  
*  
  
  
The last thing Ramza and Delita had expected to see on their way home was a smoking carriage spread out across the road in Mandalia Plains. The land was sparse and offered little shelter, but was about the safest area in Ivalice. The only monsters that roamed there were the wild chocobos and they tended to ignore people unless they were provoked. Ramza personally had never even heard of anyone being attacked by bandits on this particular road.  
  
"The Death Corps." Delita muttered. Ramza nodded in agreement and sighed sadly.  
  
"We'd better check to see if anyone is still alive, Delita."  
  
They jogged towards where the smoke was rising and checked the dead bodies thoroughly for signs of life.  
  
"Aegis Knights." Delita said after a while, "This must have been the Marquis Elmdor's escort."  
  
"They were almost to Igros." Ramza exclaimed, "An hour's journey away at the most. The Death Corps have become bold."  
  
"They've always been bold. They're leftover soldiers from the Fifty Year War, you know."  
  
Ramza looked at Delita in surprise, "I didn't know that."  
  
"What? Did you think that they just appeared suddenly out of nowheres? They're made up of the civilian units of both the Hokuten and Nanten Knights."  
  
Ramza mulled over this for a moment, "That explains a lot." he said finally.  
  
"Ramza, come over here. I think this one is alive but he's trapped under the cart!"  
  
Ramza jumped up from the soldier who's pulse he had been vainly trying to read and bounded to Delita's side. His friend was trying to pry a young boy out from beneath where the carriage fell. The unconcious soldier was the youngest Ramza had seen, blonde with cropped hair and regal features. Ramza braced his grip beneath one of the boy's shoulders and pulled. It took nearly ten minutes, but they eventually managed to manuver the soldier from underneth the cart without wounding him. They laid him out on the grass beside the road, gasping and panting, then sat and waited.  
  
Eventually, the boy's eyes cracked open. Ramza leaned over him almost immedietly and began bombarding him with questions, "Hey? Are you okay? What's your name? What happened here? Were you gaurding the Marquis?" The last question seem to grab the young soldier's attention and he shot up, eyes wild.  
  
"The Marquis!? Where is he? Is he dead?"  
  
"They took him."  
  
The soldier turned his head sharply and looked Delita up and down, judging him, "What did you say?"  
  
Delita was unfazed and answered the soldier's question, "You were attacked by the Deatn Corps. We couldn't find the Marquis body, so I assume that they took him, probably for ransom."  
  
The boy narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "And how do you know so much?"  
  
"Calm down!" Ramza nearly shouted, "We're just speculating! It makes sense when you think about it. Anyways, who are you?"  
  
"I'm not telling you anything until you tell me who you are!"  
  
Ramza sighed and glanced over the soldier's head at Delita who gave him a look of absolute exasperation, "I'm Ramza Beoulve." he said, then gestured at Delita, "And this is my good friend Delita Hyral. We're cadets from the Gariland school at Gallione."  
  
The soldier boy's eyes widened in almost childish wonder and he practically leapt on Ramza, fumbling to shake his hand.  
  
"A Beoulve!" he exclaimed, "How lucky I am! You must help me!"  
  
"Ummm..." Ramza looked at Delita, then back at the soldier, "I..."  
  
"I'm so sorry!" The boy exclaimed again, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Algus Sadalfas of the Limberry Aegis Knights."  
  
"You're a Knight?" Delita wondered skeptically.  
  
"Erm, a cadet, just like you. But please! Take me with you to Igros castle! I must go after the Death Corps and rescue the Marquis! My life depends on it! Please!"  
  
Ramza was confused by this Algus's rapid change of attitude. He wanted to help the boy, but he couldn't be sure of how Dycedarg would react to him bringing home a random stranger. But he also couldn't say no to Algus's insitent manner. Besides, he needed medical attention and Igros Castle was the only place with a reliable medic for days.  
  
So he said yes.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Just because Ramza had made a firm decision to bring Algus to Igros castle did not mean that he remained satisfyed with the way he chose. Dycedarg was in a foul sort of temper. When he looked at Algus, his expression soured as if there were something wrong with him. He then looked at Ramza as if his younger brother should have know this. Nevertheless, he invited the cadet in and the next day the four of them were seated about the long table in the conference room.  
  
"I assume your marks are satisfactory, Ramza?"  
  
Ramza nodded, although he wasn't sure if he was telling the truth. He certainly wasn't at the top of his class like Zalbag and Dycedarg had been. Delita was close to it, but Dycedarg never got wind of that.  
  
"And you too, Delita. You may not be blood-related but that doesn't give you excuse to slack off in your studies.  
  
"My marks are fine." Delita said evenly.  
  
"I heard you participated in the defense of Gallione yesterday. The headmaster sent a message informing me that your scored the highest mark on the exam in your squad. I'm proud to be your brother."  
  
Ramza's breath caught in his throat. Dycedarg certainly did not sound impressed, but that was just his way. He truly was proud of his youngest brother. Ramza was glad to hear Dycedarg's praise once in a while, but it also hurt. He couldn't explain it, but praise always felt bitter and guilty to him, especially when from his brothers.  
  
"Ramza was the only one strong enough to fufill our complete orders." Delita always kept a monotone when speaking to Dycedarg, "If not for him, our squad would have ranked last place in the school. We were lucky."  
  
The words stung, which was irrational. Delita was praising him needlessly for something he was not proud of, but Ramza realized that it was most likely for Dycedarg's own benefit. Nevertheless, he was anxious to change the subject.  
  
"Brother, Algus has come for a reason. He has a request of you."  
  
"Yes, I do!" Algus stood quickly, knocking his chair out from behind him. He slammed his hands on the desk and spoke with almost overwhelming force, "Please! Give me 100 soldiers! I must rescue the Marquis!"  
  
Dycedarg raised an eyebrow and crossed his hands. He regarded Algus for a long minute, then shook his head, "No. It's already been taken care of."  
  
Algus's face flooded with indignant disbelief, "No! I can't accept that!" he shouted. Ramza looked at him in shock. How could he speak like that to Dycedarg? Did the boy have no shame?  
  
"I said that it's been taken care of."  
  
"But this is a Limberry matter! I must avenge my comrade's murder"  
  
"Algus!" Dycedarg's voice was loud and sharp as a sword. He roared like a beast, "Think of your rank!"  
  
The words affected Algus like a bludgeoning weapon. The boy sunk back into his chair docilely and he hung his head like a dog who had been scolded too harshly.  
  
Dycedarg gathered himself before speaking again, "I'm sorry that it has to be this way, Algus, but there's nothing you can do. Meanwhile, since the three of you have nothing better to do I am deploying you to the castle's defense unit, effective immidietly."  
  
  
*  
  
  
"Damn it! Damn this stupid 'rank' of mine!" Algus kicked a stone angrily and watched it as it sunk to the bottom of the Igros castle moat, "I get no respect! No one will ever give me a chance to show what I'm capable of!"  
  
"What are you talking about?" Ramza wondered catiously. He was weary of his new friend's violent mood swings and thought that maybe it might be better to let him rant rather than to attempt to confront him.  
  
Algus spuns and gave him an incredulous look, "What. You mean you don't know?"  
  
"About what?"  
  
"About my grandfather." Algus spat, looking away, "The weasel Uther Sadalfas who dared call himself a soldier."  
  
"Why don't you tell us?" Delita was sitting at the water's edge, staring steadily at the moat's movements.  
  
"It's better you don't know." Algus scoffed, "I doubt you'd want to associate with me after you hear the whole story."  
  
"I wouldn't be so sure." Ramza reassured.  
  
Algus sighed and looked at the sky. Evening was falling and the sky burned red and purple in brilliant ribbons. Blood sky... tommorow there would be warm weather and clear skies.  
  
"My grandfather was captured during the war." Algus began, his voice remorseful and deathly quiet, "They tortured him for information on troop movements and he squealed. They released him, but he was stabbed in the back by a mere squire like myself. Somehow, word of his betrayal got out and my family lost all of it's honor. Of course, Father never believed the rumour, but it mattered little because everyone else did." at this point, Algus's voice gained volume and turned bitter, "And because of his stupid mistake, I'm forever branded a weasel. A rat! I'll never gain back the Sadalfas honor because no one will ever grant me the rank of Knight!"  
  
"I doubt that." Delita commented, "You're not your grandfather after all."  
  
"Oh, Delita. You're so wise." Algus drawled snidely, "How do you know I''m not? What if I'm just like him? I'll never know until I'm put into that situation, now will I?"  
  
Ramza was still taking in Algus's story and preparing his reply when a clear, familiar voice broke through the still, evening air.  
  
"Ho Ramza! Delita!"  
  
The three boys turned their heads to see Zalbag Beoulve waving as he strode closer, dressed in full regalia. Behind him trailed two young girls both dressed in Orbonne Monastery Private School uniforms. Alma and Teta. Ramza grinned happily. He hadn't seen either of his other siblings in nearly a year. Zalbag had since risen dramatically in rank and now commanded the Hokuten Knights. Seeing his sister Alma was also a pleasant surpirse. He hadn't expected her to age so. She was very nearly a woman.  
  
"Ho Zalbag!" he called back, "Alma, Teta! How goes life!"  
  
Delita stood, smiling broadly and spread his arms. Teta broke into a sprint and fell into her brother's embrace, laughing. Ramza couldn't help but widen his own smile seeing the two reunited. Delita sacrificed quite a bit of his own happiness for his sister's sake and as far as Ramza could tell, he always had. He still remembered the day the two showed up at the Beoulve's doorsteps, all burn-marked and smelling of woodsmoke. Teta had been unconcious and cradled weakly in her swaying brother's arms. Their farm had been burnt down by a raiding army's troops during the night. Their parents had been killed outside, but Delita grabbed his sister and took her the only safe place he knew of.  
  
When the hug was finished, Teta smoothed her skirts self-conciously and asked, "How have you been brother?"  
  
'I've been fine, as always, Teta. How have the other girls been treating you at the Monastery?"  
  
Teta hesitated a moment, then cracked a smile that seemed almost forced, "Oh... uh... well, everyone's just been so nice to me."  
  
Delita furrowed his brow and gave her the once over, "Are you sure?"  
  
Teta looked agast, "Of course Delita! I wouldn't lie to you!"  
  
Zalbag coughed discreetly, calling attention to more important matters, "You are Cadet Sadalfas, I presume?" he asked, staring pointedly at Algus. Algus nodded and Zalbag's expression darkened, "Then you will want to hear this."  
  
"What?" Algus stepped forwards and drew himself deeper into the conversation, his face wearing a conflicted look.  
  
"The Death Corps have admitted to kidnapping the Marquis." Zalbag fidled with the connections on the sheath of his sword, a nervous mannerism he had never quite grown out of, "And they've demanded a ransom."  
  
"What!?" Algus was livid, "And they expect to recieve it!? Why, they're nothing more than knaves I say!"  
  
"Knaves or not, they certainly have the advantage." Algus glowered, "I'm sorry. It doesn't make much sense to me either. The Death Corps claim to be anarchists, but they only attack the wealthy nobility. I find it hard to believe that they would kidnap the Marquis for money alone. We sent a spy out, but we haven't heard from him in hours. I think he may be in trouble, but Dycedarg insists that there's no reason to search for his whereabouts."  
  
"Where was he when you last heard from him?" Delita asked. He seemed to be catching on to something in Zalbag's tone.  
  
"A trade city called Dorter. About three day's journey from here."  
  
Algus smirked.  
  
"Anyways, I'd better be off." Zalbag turned and bid them farewell. Before he was off, though, he looked back over his shoulder and said, "Gaurding the castle a boring job, don't you think?"  
  
When he was gone, Algus laughed, "Well, at least one of your brothers has some sense Ramza!" he barked, "Commander Zalbag practically gave us permission to go after the Death Corps!"  
  
Ramza was uncertain. He shifted his feet, "Well... that may not have been his intent..."  
  
"Of course it was." Delita interrupted, "When have you ever known Zalbag to be a subtle person? He wants us to go after them. We should probably pack now, before supper."  
  
"Come on Ramza! Let's go!" Algus was practically giddy at the idea of disobeying Dycedarg's orders. Ramza didn't exactly blame him, but he couldn't help but think... what would happen if they were caught?  
  
"Okay, fine. I suppose if Zalbag gave us permission it should be okay... you guys go on, I'll be along in a minute."  
  
Algus shrugged and he and Delita left, followed closely by a frowning Teta. Ramza redirected his attention to his own sister, who had been uncharacteristcally silent during the meeting.  
  
"What Teta said isn't true." she said finally.  
  
Ramza twisted his mouth, "What do you mean? Is there something wrong with Teta?"  
  
"The girls at school pick on her because of her rank. She's just putting up a front because she doesn't want Delita to be worried."  
  
Ramza sighed, "I can understand why. Delita expects a lot more of himself than he can deliver."  
  
"And so do you." Alma snapped, "You let Dycedarg and Zalbag weigh you down with expectations you know you can't fufill. That's just as bad!"  
  
Ramza directed his gaze downwards. He couldn't face his sister like this, "Alma... you sound like our Mother."  
  
Alma breathed heavily, "I'm sorry Ramza. I didn't mean to upset you. I just... don't let your name hold you back. You should try to be your own person."  
  
Suddenly Ramza threw his head back and laughed. Alma glowered at him perplexidly, but finally he met her gaze, "Alma..." he chuckled, "Alma, Alma, Alma... no one would ever guess that I'm older than you."  
  
Alma looked taken a back for a moment, but then she laughed as well because it was very, very true.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
V.  
  
'I do not believe that the Lion War was really about Prince Larg and Duke Goltana's struggle for power. Rather, I think it was about the struggle between the free and wealthy and the poor and oppressed. It was an epic battle to eliminate society's focus on 'rank'. If you look at history this way, then The Lion War actually began in 1342, not 1344, with the rise of a rebel group known as 'The Death Corps'. The anarchist group was led by a former commander of the civilian army Knights of Death, Wiegraf Folles and consisted of disgruntled farmers and millers who had joined the army during the war, and returned home to find themselves without homes, money and thanks.'  
- The Durai Reports, Chaper VI  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"I don't know! I swear to God, I don't know anything!" Manred Aveh, Fencer of the Death Corps, was not impressed with himself. He was pressed up against the cold brick wall of a weapons shop in a back alley of Dorter pleading pathetically for his life. Wiegraf Folles, commander of the Death Corps eyed him coldly, fingering the hilt of his blade threateningly.  
  
"Don't lie to me, Aveh." he hissed, "I know that you're in Gustav's confidence. If you don't tell me where he took the Marquis I warn you that you'll be guilty of treason and I'll be forced to execute you."  
  
"Listen to yourself!" Manred yelled, "You sound just like them! I thought we were trying to fight the nobles, not imitate them!"  
  
In a flash, Wiegraf's sword was drawn. Manred flinched as the cold point pressed against his neck, but he didn't drop his defiant gaze for a moment.  
  
"You will tell me where they went or I will slit your throat here and now, in the alley way without mercy or ceremony. Is that acting more like the commoner I am?"  
  
Manred gulped and dug his fingers into the brick, "Y... you can't kill me... because you don't know of anyone else who knows anything..."  
  
Wiegraf increased the pressure on the blade. Manred gasped as it barely broke the skin above his juglar. A few more centimeters and he would be dead, "Wrong Aveh. I know of plenty who are Gustav's allies. You're just the most... convinient."  
  
"Zeaklaus Desert..." Manred choked, "Sand Rats..."  
  
Wiegraf relaxed the sword a bit, but the shadows crossed over his eyes and for a moment, Manred thought that he was going to kill him. Suddenly, Wiegraf turned his head sharply to the left and sheathed his sword, "Dammnit." he cursed, "Footsteps." he ducked out of the alley, throwing Manred to the ground as he ran. The Fencer attempted to scramble before the footsteps reached the alley, but as he forced his bruised body to stand, three youths rounded the corner. Manred froze.  
  
The shortest of the group caught his eye first. He was one of the soldiers who had been gaurding the Marquis's carriage. The other two were dressed much like cadets and were most likely nobility, except that the taller boy had dark hair. This caused Manred to raised an eyebrow. There were very few naturally dark haired people in Ivalice anymore and as far as he knew, none of them belong to royal families. But there he was, gazing ahead dispassionately and dressed as if he were a student at Gariland.  
  
The three boys stopped walking and stared at Manred as he stared at them. "You!" the Marquis gaurd growled, and lunged for him.  
  
"Oh shit." Manred dodged and made an admirable run for it down the alley to where Wiegraf had dissapeared, but he was injured and wearing heavier armor than the boy. He was hounded down easily and soon found himself being wrestled to the ground and shackled, no doubt to be dragged into some abandoned wearhouse for further questioning.  
  
Manred sighed and quit struggling, allowing the bonds to be tightened around his redening wrists. 'This just isn't my day...' he thought bitterly...  
  
  
*  
  
  
Algus paced with his hands folded behind his back like he had seen his commanding officer do during interrogations. The Death Corps Fencer that they had captured knelt submissively on the floor at his feet, but Algus knew that it would not be easy to extract information from him. He stopped pacing and turned on his heel, glaring at the Fencer.  
  
"Where is the Marquis?" he demanded. The Fencer didn't so much as look up, "Where is he? Where did you take him? Your boss Wiegraf was here just a moment ago, wasn't he? Where did he go?" The Fencer still refused to answer. Algus gritted his teeth in fustration and slugged the prisoner across his right cheek. The man fell back, "Answer me, you bastard!"  
  
"It wasn't Mr. Wiegraf's plot in the first palce. He has nothing to do with it."  
  
Algus snorted, "You expect me to believe that? He's your commander, isn't he?"  
  
"Just because he's out leader doesn't mean he knows everything that goes on."  
  
"Then who did it?"  
  
"And if I tell you, then what? You'll go rescue our Marquis? What will you do with me? Kill me?" he sneered and brought his face up, glaring at Algus sharply, "You nobles are all alike. You think we're just mindless beasts. You use us to get what you want, and then you spit us out and abandon us. You'll never change. You're just scum!"  
  
Algus kicked the Fencer viciously under the chin, sending him reeling several feet to the back of the room.  
  
"Algus! Stop it!" Ramza shouted, horrifyed, grabbing Algus's shoulder. Algus shrugged him off and addressed the Fencer angrily.  
  
"Never, EVER speak to a noble like that! You're the scum! Don't act so great when you guys are the ones going around kidnapping and murdering people."  
  
"We only do what we're driven to do." the Fencer retorted, "It's your fault that we had to take such drastic measures!"  
  
"Lies! You're only in it for personal gain! Why else would you demand such a high ransom for the Marquis!?"  
  
The Fencer laughed bitterly, "Don't be ridiculous. We'd never kidnap a VIP just for money. As I said before, that wasn't Wiegraf's plan. We're trying to prove a point."  
  
"Argh!" Algus lashed out and kicked the wall, "Where is he! Tell me!"  
  
The Fencer's eyes darted towards Ramza who was hovering behind Algus's shoulders ready to restrain the boy if he tried again to beat the prisoner, then back to his questioner with renewed confidence, "I'll never tell."  
  
Algus leaned forwards and grabbed the scruff of the prisoner's shirt. He brought his face close and spoke softly so that Ramza couldn't hear, "Listen..." he said, tone even and rational, "I'll tell you what's going to happen. In a moment, the Hokuten are going to begin slaughtering you. That's right, a week from now there will be no Death Corps for you to belong with. So I'll tell you what. If you tell us where the Marquis is, I'll make sure that you're life is spared."  
  
The Fencer's eyes lit up and he nodded graciously, "Okay..." he said catiously, "We took him to 'Sand Rats'."  
  
"Sand Raaaaaaaats?" Algus drew back and wrinkled his brow in confusion, "What the hell is 'Sand Rats'?"  
  
"Sand Rat Cellar." Delita spoke for the first time since they had captured the fencer. He was bent casually against the far wall with his arms crossed, cooly watching the proceedings with that creepy, perceptive gaze of his, "You're not from around here, Algus. I'm not surprised you don't know what it is."  
  
"Of course." Ramza piped up from behind Algus, "It's a hideout in the Zeaklaus desert. Little more than ruins now, it used to be where the sand people met."  
  
"That must be where they took the Marquis." Delita affirmed, nodding at Ramza. The Fencer also nodded, glancing up at Algus hopefully. The Limberry cadet sniffed in disgust and threw the Death Corps member to the floor.  
  
"Your life is spared." he said darkly, "But I wonder if you can make it through the next few days alive? People like you make me sick." Algus spat. The Fencer was just like his grandfather, "Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind."  
  
When the Fencer was gone, Algus said, "Well, that's that. Lets go."  
  
"Wait..." Ramza bit his lip, "Are you sure we should go after the Marquis ourselves? Maybe we should just return to Igros and inform Dycedarg of his whereabouts. I'm sure he'll have someone do something about it."  
  
"Ramza, you can't be serious!" Algus shook the Beoulve's shoulders, "Just turn around and give up after we've come so far! If we save the Marquis on our own think of the honor! Think of it Ramza!"  
  
"I agree with Algus." Delita sounded none too happy with the concept, but justifyed himself, "Afterall, even if we return now we'll be in trouble with your brother. We might as well finish the job if we'll be punished anyways."  
  
Ramza wanted to object further, but bit his tounge. It was hard to argue with Delita's logic. Besides that, he wanted to go. Algus's eyes were wild with the lust for honor and recognition. Perhaps this would finally save his family name.  
  
  
*  
  
  
"Did you hear? The Hokuten are moving."  
  
"Really. What does that mean for us?"  
  
"Easy. We clear out now and avoid getting slaughtered. If we just go home no one can prove we used to be Death Corps."  
  
"I don't know. Sounds pretty self-serving to me..."  
  
"Isn't that the point? Those who don't serve themselves end up dead."  
  
"But if we just follow Gustav's plan..."  
  
"Gustav is more of a fool that even Wiegraf was. What he's planning will never work. There's no honor in it. What's he's proposing is that we become a gang of barbarians and mercenaries, killing and kidnapping for money."  
  
"It's the only way to survive!"  
  
"I don't know..." Ramza whispered, "They seem pretty harmless..."  
  
He, Delita and Algus were hidden behind a sand dune outside the Sand Rat Cellar listening to the Death Corps gaurd argue among themselves. None of them were particularily excited about fighting them, afterall, they were outnumbered five to three, but realized it was most likely necessary. They were simply waiting for the right moment to spring.  
  
"Nonsense." Algus muttered, "They're beasts. All of them. You didn't see how they slaughtered my comrades! This is why commoners and nobles can't live together!"  
  
Delita twitched at this comment, but wisely chose to say nothing. Algus hadn't clued into the fact that Delita was not a noble yet and neither he nor Ramza were going to cause dissention by mentioning to him during this mission.  
  
"They're not going to get any more occupied than they are right now." Ramza said quickly, diverting attention away from Algus's acidicly classist remark, "Lets just jump them now."  
  
"Yes." Delita agreed, and without further paused, leapt out from behind the sand dune, sword unsheathed.  
  
The five gaurds spun and stared in shock at the sudden apperance of these three cadets from behind the dune. They seemed unsure what to do for a moment, but then their leader stepped forwards and raised his arms in surrender.  
  
"Wait! We have no quarrel with you!"  
  
Algus lowered his sword and shouted, "What's this!"  
  
"I said we have no quarrel with you." the gaurd repeated, "You've come to rescue the Marquis, right? Go right ahead. He's nothing to us."  
  
Algus's mouth hung open and he looked questioningly at Ramza, who just shrugged. Delita pushed forwards, saying as he went, "Don't argue with a unwanted blessing."  
  
  
*  
  
  
The Death Corps were falling apart. Wiegraf didn't know how to explain it or how to stop it. All he knew is that it had something to do with the argument Gustav, once his most trusted captain and now nothing more than a dissenter, was sprouting in his self defense.  
  
"What we need now are warm beds and food, not ideas!" he shouted, "And if we collect ransom money like with the Marquis here, we'll garuntee that! The troops are weary! They're starving, Wiegraf!"  
  
Wiegraf clenched his fists and growled, pointing his sword in Gustav's direction, "We're not brigands, Gustav!"  
  
"I'm not saying that's what we are, I just..."  
  
"But that's what you would have us be! Have you even listened to yourself! That's not what the Death Corps are about! We're trying to earn respect and justice! How can we ever possibly do that following your plan!"  
  
"We have to eat!"  
  
"They'll kill us all if you continue this!"  
  
"You're wrong, Wiegraf! You're the one who's going to kill us!" Without warning, Gustav drew his sword and charge his commander. Wiegraf raised his sword quickly and paried, sidestepping so that he was in a better position to drive his own blade through his former Captain stomach. Gustav's eyes bulged as Wiegraf withdrew the sword, leaving a wide, bloody gouge in his body, then slumped to the floor dying face first in the sand. Wiegraf stood panting over the dead body, then began to make his way to the Marquis.  
  
Just then, the door burst open and a snide voice shouted at him, "Stop right there or we'll kill you!" it commanded.  
  
Wiegraf straightened and turned slowly. He almost laughed when he saw the three young men, little more than children, standing in the doorway as if they were some sort of valiant heros from a story. Well, the one who had spoke was at least. The other two were less than enthusiastic. One was running his fingers along the hilt of his sword nervously, eyes darting about the room distractedly. The other, a dark haired boy, had a manner all too relaxed. He looked as if he really didn't care. Wiegraf could only assume that they were here to rescue the Marquis, and on top of it, they had come without permission. He carefully slid his sword into it's sheath and folded his arms across his chest.  
  
"If you've come for the Marquis, you can have him."  
  
The proud boy's expression faltered and he raised his sword, "If this is some kind of trick..."  
  
"It's not trick. Take him back to Igros castle and tell them that I apologize for the rough treatment he has suffered at the hands of one of my captains. I suppose I'll have to take full responsibilty for the incident anyways." he began to edge towards the door, "But please don't give me any trouble that will force me into a fight. I was in the war and, although I hate to say it, I will probably be forced to kill you boys."  
  
The boy seemed weary, but the dark haired one reached out and forced him to lower his sword arm, "Let him go Algus. He's being serious."  
  
"But... if we kill him here, the Death Corps will be destroyed!"  
  
"The Death Corps will destroy itself." The dark haired one said firmly, "It's not worth it."  
  
"We'll let you go." The nervous boy said, speaking for the first time. When this had been said, the decision seemed solidifying. Wiegraf found the trio's dynamics interesting. The firery, impulsive boy was irrational, but propelled them into action, the dark haired one was sensible and intelligent but the nervous looking one was the leader. Wiegraf had no doubt that they would all be military commanders one day, helped in no small part by their noble lineage.  
  
The youths edged away from the door, clearing a path for Wiegraf. He bowed graciously and walked briskly past them towards the exit as the proud cadet's eyes followed him and kept his palms always wrapped around the hilt of his sword.  
  
When Wiegraf was finally free of the cellar, he allowed himself to think of what the dark haired boy had said at last.  
  
'The Death Corps will destroy itself.'  
  
Was it true? Would rebellions like Gustav's eventually cause infighting that would lead to them all killing each other off? Perhaps, Wiegraf thought bitterly, it IS better for the Hokuten to slaughter us all and just have it be done with...  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
VI.  
  
'It was a common belief in the days before the war that commoners, that is anyone not born into nobility, were little better than cattle and should be treated as such. What most of the nobility failed to realize is that the entire economical and sociological foundation of Ivalice depended upon the poor masses.'  
- The Durai Reports, Chapter VI  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Dycedarg Beoulve had always been a resentful person. He was never really satisfyed with the way his life was and it seemed fate always gave him something more to be disgruntled with. When he was young the Fifty Year war was still twenty years from being over. His Father never had time for him and when Zalbag was born, his Mother didn't either. Zalbag himself was so different from Dycedarg that he found it almost impossible to communicate with the boy, and so pure hearted and painfully good that Dycedarg couldn't even manipulate him into stealing cookies from the nursery.   
  
When their Mother died, Balbanes took a maid as his lover and even had children with her! Dycedarg could never forgive Ramza and Alma for the betrayal that they were concieved from. The plauge took the maid and Dycedarg had silently breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that no more shame could come to their family.  
  
Then one day in late autumn the 'stable boy' showed up with his sister. Delita had requested only food and shelter for the night, but Balbanes, being the soft hearted fool he was insisted that they stay. Not for a week, or a month but for the rest of their filthy commoner lives.  
  
"Come now Dycedarg." father had chuckled when his oldest son voiced dissent, "No child should have to grow up without a home to call their own. Besides, it will give Ramza and Alma some company while you and Zalbag are off at Gariland!"  
  
As much as Dycedarg resented his youngest brother and sister he still considered them Beoulves and the thought of them associating with such rabble disgusted him. But he said nothing more and allowed his dissaproval grow throughout the years realizing that there was nothing he could do as long as Zalbag, Ramza and Alma enjoyed the peasants's company.  
  
He hated Delita, though. Teta mostly stayed out of the way, being a girl and an especially shy one at that, but Delita grated Dycedarg nerves like no one else. He had sharp ears and an even sharper intellect, often inadvertantly getting the better of Dycedarg during dinner tbale conversations. Not only had he been admitted into the academy, but he dared to step out of his place and excell in his studies, purposefully keeping it a secret. Dycedarg knew, of course. In fact, if it hadn't been for his connections with the school's headmaster, Delita probably would have graduated top of the class. Only once before in Gariland's history had a commoner graduated with such honors and the staff were diligent about making sure no more mistakes like Kletian Drowa slipped through the cracks.  
  
Of all the irritating things Delita Hyral did the one that vexed Dycedarg the most was the boy's habit of taking the blame for Ramza's mistakes. He wasn't sure why this fustrated him so. There was no satisfaction in punishing Delita as it was. The stable would simply nod nochalantly and go about his duties as usual, but his loyalty to Ramza was rather... unnerving. It wasn't servitude, more like... gratitude. Dycedarg didn't like seeing such an admirable humbleness in the boy. His life was much easier if he could continue assuming that Delita was a lofty, arrogant wretch who simply took his good fortune for granted  
  
This time though, there was some doubt as to where the blame laid. Algus Sadalfas, grandson of the infamous Uther Sadalfas, hadn't been content with Dycedarg's decision in the first place, but he was just as likely to go off alone as to convince Ramza and Delita to go with him. But Dycedarg had never known his younger brother to disobey a direct order from him.  
  
"Why did you go to Zeaklaus desert?" Ramza refused to meet his gaze. Dycedarg tried again, "Why did you choose to go against my direct orders when you know..."  
  
"It was my fault." Delita interrupted, "I forced Ramza to go."  
  
Dycedarg turned his cold gaze on Delita, who glared back with equal ice in his eyes, "Is that true, brother? Delita forced you to go?"  
  
"No!" Ramza said quickly, "It was my decision."  
  
"He's lying." Delita continued, "I was the one to..."  
  
"Delita!" Ramza grabbed the stable boy's arm, "It was my choice to disobey the order. You don't have to protect me."  
  
Delita looked at him with what must have been shock and was about to reply, but Dycedarg slammed his fist on the table, "I don't care which of you talked the other into it. What matters is that you two ignored your duty. If everyone acted lawlessly, how could 'law' exist? It's our duty to uphold the 'law' as Knight's rule." he gave Ramza a penetrating look, "Are you trying to ruin the Beoulve name!?"  
  
Ramza dropped his arms and his gaze, "I... I'm sorry brother, I..."  
  
"That's quite enough Dycedarg."  
  
Ramza and Delita immdietly dropped to their knees as Duke Larg, brother of the Queen Ruvelia, strode into the room. Algus looked at them, then back to the Duke and also fell into a deep bow.  
  
"Don't you think you're being a bit too hard on the boy. Dycedarg?" Larg spoke slowly and largely, like a King, "Young soldiers are always eager to succeed. So were we."  
  
Dycedarg thinned his lips and aquired a sour expression, "I suppose, but..."  
  
"So you're Zalbag and Dycedarg's younger brother. Do relax." Larg motioned for Ramza to rise as he dismissed Dycedarg, then looked the boy over with a wide smile, "You look incrediably like the late Balbanes. A fine looking young man... and I'm sure all that youthful energy didn't come from gaurding a castle." Larg laughed at his own joke.  
  
Dycedarg grumbled and waved his hand as a sign for Delita and Algus to rise, "The mission is nearly over. You may choose one of the theives forts and take it. Consider it your first post as Gariland graduates." he sighed, "You are dismissed."  
  
The three boys bowed one last time, then left, "Next time, Larg, let me deal with my own kin. They nearly ruined everything."  
  
"Oh, I don't think so." Larg walked slowly to the window and folded him hands behind his back as he watched the sun set outside the Beoulve residence, "In fact, if they hadn't interferred things probably wouldn't have gone so well. Gustav wasn't much of a soldier, after all."  
  
Dycedarg sunk in his chair petuantly, "Yes... and they were a great help in saving the Marquis life..."  
  
"The King will die soon." Larg remarked arily, "We must move soon, my friend."  
  
  
*  
  
  
"What was that all about?" Algus remarked towards Delita when they were in the hallways, "Dycedarg treats you like you're his brother."  
  
Delita scoffed harshly, and continued walking so Ramza answered Algus's question, "Delita practically is part of the family. He and his sister have lived here with us for a little over eleven years."  
  
"What?"  
  
"My parents were killed near the end of the Fifty Year war," Delita said over his shoulder, "Then our home was burned down. I managed to save Teta and came here. I was only five years old and didn't know anywheres else to go, didn't even know if we had any other family. Balbanes Beoulve was a merciful man, so he took us in and treated us as if we were his own."  
  
Algus nodded slowly, taking it all in, "So Delita... you and Teta are foundlings of sorts?"  
  
"Something like that." Ramza agreed hastily, then quickly changed the subject, "I suppose we should get some supper. They'll probably want us to attck the thieves before the night is up."  
  
"I still say it's pointless." Delita muttered, "If we give them enough rope they'll hang themselves. What the sense in killing them all if they're just going to disband in a few weeks."  
  
"The sense is in setting an example!" Algus said with sudden passion, "Showing those dogs that they can never get away with it again! We're going to teach them a lesson!"  
  
Delita spun around sharply and stopped, causing Algus to nearly knock into him, "Are you an idiot, Algus? Don't you see that this is all just a diversion from the real issue? The government doesn't want us to pay attention to the growing conflict between Larg and Goltana. Because you know what will happen if the people realize what's going on? They'll call for the Princess to be brought in and neither of the Duke's want her to be on the throne. This has nothing to do with justice or setting an example, it's all a manipulation and if you can't see that you're just as much a fool as the Death Corps themselves!" Delita gave Algus one more threatening glare, then turned and stalked off down the hallway.  
  
Algus stared after him, speechless for some long second, then he turned on Ramza and demanded, "What the hell is his problem?"  
  
"You should probably ease up on the commoners a bit, Algus. Delita is a very fair minded person and I'm afraid you've upset him." without even waiting for Algus to defend himself, Ramza rushed off after his friend.  
  
  
*  
  
  
"Communication with the main unit has been cut off!" a young thief named Drake Koh threw the door open frantically, "We have to get out of here! The Hokuten are coming!"  
  
"I knew it would come to this. My brother's views are far too optimistic." Miluda Folles sighed, brushing her long, straw colored hair behind her back. She loosened her sword in it's sheath and nodded to the small gathering of Death Corps troops under her command, "Take the back entrance out. I'll hold them off while you escape."  
  
"Where do we go!" a young priestess exclaimed, "The Hokuten are everywheres!"  
  
Miluda cursed and searched her memory for a possible safe haven, "Fovohom Hills." she said finally, "My brother's stronghold. The Hokuten don't reach that far, hopefully you'll be safe."  
  
"It's over." Drake whined, "We'll all be dead before the night is out!"  
  
"It's not over!" the priestess snapped, "It will never be over until the nobles apologize to us for what they've done!"  
  
There was pounding at the door and the group fell silent.  
  
"Well, go!" Miluda commanded, practically pushing the first thief out of the trap door, "Remember, Fovohom plains. You can hide overnight in Dorter! I'll meet you there!"  
  
Her wards nodded and were gone quickly. Miluda drew her sword dutifully, well aware that she probably wouldn't make it out of the encounter alive.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Algus's patience wore eventually wore thin quickly, standing in the rain and getting wet. Then it occured to him:  
  
"You know, it would take some pretty dim thieves to answer the door when they knew the Hokuten were coming."  
  
Ramza and Delita agreed, but no one in the group was ashamed. It was, afterall, their first official mission. So Algus braced his shoulder and charge the door. It cracked under his weight and flew open. Algus fell in none too gracefully, followed catiously by Ramza and Delita.  
  
"So this is what the almighty Hokuten send me? They send boys, barely out of the academy?" There was only one. She was a female Knight, proffesional looking and dressed very similar to the Death Corps leader Wiegraf had been. She laughed, then bared her sword and charged.  
  
Delita was quickest. He blocked her slash and deflected her blade. She twirled and came back at him but he blocked again, bending a bit beneath the pressure of her superior strength. He sidestepped and ducked, narrowly escaping her sword as it fell towards him, then turned gracefully, catching her in the stomach. The cut wasn't fatal, but it was enough that she cried out in pain, clutching at her abdonmen as she fell. Delita sheathed his sword and frowned deeply.  
  
The woman dragged herself to the wall so that she could sit more comfortably, then raised her chin and glared at her executors.  
  
"Three on one. This is hardly fair... but then again, I'd expect no less from nobles such as youself. What do you think we are? We're human, just like you!"  
  
  
"Nonsense!" Algus exclaimed, "You're nothing but animals! From the moment you were born you had to obey us!"  
  
"And who are you to talk? You were born into privilage! Have you ever starved? Gone months with only soup to eat? We're only 'animals' to you because from birth you deny us our own right to life! The only difference between you and me is our families!"  
  
"You're not equal to us!" Algus insisted, "It's because we're better than you!"  
  
"And who decided this!?" the Lady of the Death Corps challenged, "Can you tell me that?"  
  
"It's the Divine Will of Heaven!"  
  
"Ha." the woman shook her head, snickering like one half-mad, "You're so misguided. God would never decide something like that. In his eyes we are all equal."  
  
"ANIMALS HAVE NO GOD!" Algus roared. The woman widened her eyes in disbelief at his words, then slumped further as if he had physically crushed her.  
  
"That's enough, Algus." Ramza warned softly.  
  
"If I'm nothing more than an animal to you, kill me here. Slaughter me like I'm cattle or swine. Have no mercy, kill me slowly and laugh as I suffer. I'm only an animal, right?"  
  
"Do it, Ramza!" Algus hissed, eyes wide and alive with a frightening fire, "She's lost sight of life, beasts like her don't deserved to live. Kill her and do it now! She's your enemy! If you don't kill her, she'll kill you!"  
  
"Wait Ramza!" Delita placed a mediating hand on Ramza's shoulder and steadied him, "I don't think she really is our enemy."  
  
"Hmph, and who are you to say that, a little pish posh noble like you." The woman's eyes fixed on Delita begrudgingly, "You dress and fight like a Gariland graduate.Your kind is the worst. You can't deal with your precious guilty concious so you pretend to feel and have mercy. You'd have them throw me out onto the street into the rain so I can die quietly and slowly somewhere you can't see me. The you'll go home and have your servants cook you an extravagant meal and while you eat you just thank your God that you weren't born instead to a family of farmers or millers or bakers!" she spat at Delita's feet.  
  
"Delita isn't like that!" Ramza shouted, "He isn't even..." he stopped himself short and glanced quickly at Algus who was staring at him with a mixed expression of scorn and pointed intrest. But it was Delita who finished the statement.  
  
"I'm not even a noble." he said, glaring at the woman. Algus made a strangled, betrayed noise but Delita ignored him and continued, "My parents were farmers. I know what it's like to starve. We grew all our own food, but still it's hard to sustain four people on just leftover grain during wartime. My parents were murdered by soldiers and if Balbanes Beoulve had treated my sister and I like animals when we sought help from him, we'd be dead now too. Not everything is as black and white as you make it out to be. Not all nobles are bad... and not all commoners are good."  
  
The Death Corps woman was still unimpressed, "Well, then what are you to him?" she asked, turning her chin towards Ramza, "That he lets you travel with him? Are you his little pet stable boy? You does all the hard work then he gets all the credit? How sweet."  
  
"Delita's my friend." Ramza growled.  
  
"I wonder if you'll remember those words in ten years when you're a general and he's still nothing more than a squire, cleaning you sword and fetching you messages."  
  
"Go." Ramza said quietly, but with barely contained fury inching up into his tone, "Leave and do what you will with yourself. We won't kill you, but you won't be our responsibility either."  
  
The woman regarded him as if she didn't trust that he was telling the truth, then slowly got to her feet, still clutching at her wound, and limped from the hideout.  
  
"What are you doing!" Algus shrieked as she left, "Those weren't our orders!"  
  
"Shut up Algus! Our orders are what I say our orders are." Ramza looked pleadingly at Delita, trying to read his expression which was, as always, blank.  
  
"We should return to Igros and report." Delita said calmly.  
  
Algus snorted loudly and turned his nose up, "I can't believe you guys..."  
  
  
*  
  
  
"Communication from the main unit has been cut off!" Golagros cursed violently under his breath. He had been trying to contact Miluda's unit, but the woman had taken far too long returning his message. He paced tensely, fingers tight around his Chocobo's harness as he and Rufus waited for the three assasins to finish their job. Finally, two of them, Garret and Wang, appeared through the open doors of Igros castle, each restraining a young, gaged girl.  
  
"Paris has been slain!" Garret despaired as he forced his captive, a pretty, dark haired girl wearing violet skirts, towards Golagros."  
  
"Why did you take these hostages!" Golagros stressed, holding the girl's shoulders and unsure what to do with her.  
  
"They're Beoulves! There was no other way to escape!"  
  
"You idiots! Now they have a reason to give chase! Hurry!"  
  
And suddenly there was an arrow in Garret's back. The Knight fell to the ground, dead. Golagros grabbed the dark haired girl roughly and shoved her onto the back of the Chocobo as Zalbag Beoulve burst out through the castle doors. Wang was slain, but Golagros escaped, taking with him Teta Hyral.  
  
Zalbag kicked the dead body of the Death Corps fencer aside andrushed to his sister. He tore the gag out of Alma's mouth and checked her over desperately for injuries. As he was doing so, a wounded Dycedarg appeared towering and shadowlike at the castle entrace.  
  
"They were after me..." he croaked, "Someone's trying to kill me." he was pale face and frightened. Shakily he looked at Alma, "Are you okay, sister?"  
  
Alma nodded nervously, but turned her gaze off into the distance, "I'm fine... but Teta isn't."  
  
"Yes, we..." Dycedarg began a nod, but suddenly his energy failed him and he fell. Zalbag caught him and shook him, "Dycedarg! Dycedarg! Are you okay? Answer me brother!"  
  
Alma sobbed brokenly and rested her forehead on her brother's cold hand, but her thoughts were with Teta. How far would Dycedarg put himself out to save her? Would Teta even survive this ordeal? Alma doubted it and for the first time in her life, she was angry with her brother.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
VII.  
  
'I speak now of the friendship between Ramza Beoulve and Delita Hyral. It is a well known fact that in their youth the two were as close, if not closer, than any brothers. Distance grew between them during the war, but even though by all rights they should have been enemies they always found a way to fit each other into their plans. Even now after everything, Delita will still speak Ramza's name with fondness and respect.'  
- The Durai Reports, Chapter XII  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The air was finally growing chilly. Gray light poured into Dycedarg's sick room in one thin strand, allowed by the crack in his heavy, linen curtains. Ramza's elder brother had never been exceptionally healthy, but never before had anyone seen him so weak or pasty-faced. He breathed streniously and could barely open his eyes. He spoke with great effort and had a chemist by his side at all times. The medic assured that he would not die, but many of the servants had aleady called for a priest.  
  
"I... heard... that you... destroyed the thieves fort..." he didn't sound like Dycedarg, strong and forceful, but rather like an old man on his death bed, "Good work... Ramza, Algus, Delita... now leave the rest up to Zalbag and... relax."  
  
"What are you planning."  
  
"The Death Corps... are falling apart... deserters are down to... a few... Wiegraf will be caught, and that will be... the end... of it."  
  
"But what about Teta!" Alma pleaded, "They have Teta!"  
  
"Don't worry... that will be... taken care of..."  
  
Delita lurched forwards, "How exactly will it be taken care of?" he wondered through clenched teeth.  
  
"Delita... you assume so much of me... I would never abandon Teta... she's like a... like a sister to me..." Dycedarg's speech was interrupted by a violent spell of coughs. The chemist immdietly bent over him, then glanced up at the company harshly and motioned silently for them to leave.  
  
Alma caught Ramza's hand and they exited with Delita close by, hanging his dark head, but Algus lingered a moment longer.  
  
"Sorry for my impertenince, highness..." he bowed humbly, "But you aren't really going to sacrifice the mission to rescue that stable boy's sister, are you?"  
  
Dycedarg looked at him with as much shock as his weary face could manage, "What... gives you... that idea?" he rasped.  
  
"Well... you strike me as the intelligent sort. You aren't like your siblings... you understand the 'difference' between nobles and commoners."  
  
Dycedarg grinned shallowly, "You know... cadet Sadalfas... I like you..." he coughed, "Of course I understand... 'difference'... I have not sent the troops out to purposefully allow Teta to... die... but her rescue is... not exactly high on their list of priorities..."  
  
Algus smirked, "That's all I wanted to know. Thank you highness, I'll be leaving now."  
  
  
*  
  
  
"Delita calm down!" Ramza ran through the courtyard after the fuming boy. He caught Delita by his arm and spun him around only to see his face contorted in pain and tear streaked.  
  
"How am I supposed to calm down?" he demanded, grabbing Ramza's shoulders tightly, "How the HELL am I supposed to stay calm! Don't you understand Ramza? They have Teta! She's my sister dammnit!"  
  
He shook Ramza and the blonde boy grew ridgid with fear. He was confused. Dycedarg said that it was taken care of, did Delita not trust him? Even worse, the stable boy's emotions were wildly out of control. Ramza had not seen him cry since the day they met, had barely seen him show emotion since he recovered from his parent's death. Delita had certainly never been violent with anyone, espeically not Ramza, but now Delita shook him so viciously that he felt himself go dizzy and his air passageways constrict.  
  
"Delita... Delita I can't breathe..."  
  
Delita released him swifty and stepped back. His face was a muddle of conflicting expressions; horror, fear, anger, despair; and finally, he buried his head in his hands and whispered, "Ramza, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...I just don't know what to do..."  
  
Ramza tenatively reached out an arm and rested his hand awkwardly on Delita's shoulder, "It's okay. Remember, Dycedarg said that Teta's like a sister to him. He said he'd never abandon her. Everything will turn out okay."  
  
"Never believe in never."  
  
Delita's head shot up and both boys spun to see Algus stalking towards them, wearing a rather self-satisfyed grin.  
  
"Are you suggesting that my brother's lying?" Ramza demanded.  
  
"Well, I know that I wouldn't try to rescue a commoner like his sister."  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
"I said..." Algus's slowed his speech down and he talked as if he were speaking to a child, "I wouldn't waste my time trying to save common scum like your sister, knave!"  
  
"How dare you!" Delita lunged forwards and hit Algus hard. Ramza pulled him back and restrained him before he could hurt the Limberry cadet further and Algus laughed and he rubbed his cheek.  
  
"Dammnit Ramza, let me go!"  
  
"See, this is why nobles and commoners will never live together! Look at you, behaving like an animal, because that's what you are! You common folk are so pathetic, you'll never be like us nobles!"  
  
"You don't know anything, Algus." Ramza shot back, "Delita's my best friend. We're like brothers."  
  
"And there's the problem. Don't act like such good friends. He's just a commoner, you can't be with him! He'll never trust you again!"  
  
Delita threw Ramza off of him and strode so close to Algus that their faces were nearly touching, "I trust Ramza, Algus." he whsipered darkly, "Not all nobles are like you. You're the scum."  
  
"You should leave, Delita." Algus replied, "You don't belong here and one day your precious Ramza is going to realize that. Then where will you be? Out on the street again."  
  
Delita's eyes narrowed into slits, "I hope you never regain your family honor." he said, "You're nothing more than a rat." then he left, brushing past Ramza and not looking back once. Ramza leapt to his feet and stared after him before glaring angrily at Algus.  
  
"What the hell did you say to him!?"  
  
"Just the truth." Algus said innocently, "He's probably gone for good."  
  
"Get out!" Ramza hollered, stepping forwards and pushing Algus back a few steps.  
  
Algus spread his arms endearingly, "What? Come on, I thought we were friends?"  
  
"I never want to see your face again!"  
  
Algus sighed and shook his head, "It's a shame..." he said, then began to walk away. As he reached the court yard's entrace he turned back, "Oh yes, Ramza. I almost forgot. They headed to Fort Zeakdan. I heard from your brother." he shrugged, "Well. Good luck, you spoiled-rotten little boy."  
  
"OUT!"  
  
Algus sighed and shook his head one last time before leaving. Ramza closed his eyes and stowed his tears. His life was falling apart, but he still wouldn't let himself cry. He felt something wet on his forehead and opened his eyes, staring up at the gray sky in surprise. It had been a snowflake. It was finally snowing.  
  
'It means something...' Ramza thought miserably, "Ill tidings ahead... oh God... Teta...'  
  
  
*  
  
  
Delita had run from the Beoulve residence with no intention of ever returning. He had run and run until his legs failed him and he collapsed face up in the frost bitten grass. Then, for the first time in eleven years he sobbed freely, alone and broken.  
  
This was how Ramza found him nearly an hour later. He approached his old friend quietly and sat crossed legged at his side, resting his chin in his palms and staring at the horizen. Delita was half-shocked that he had come and almost afraid to say anything in case the 'noble' was cross with him. After several minutes of prolonged silence, Delita realized this was a stupid assumption as Ramza would never have come after him if her were angry. So Delita spoke.  
  
"It was snowing."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Teta loves the winter. I'm sure she's glad, wherever she is."  
  
"I'm sure she'll be fine. Zalbag will take care of everything." Ramza paused, then said predicatably, "We should go back to Igros. It's getting late."  
  
"No!" Delita sat up and glared Ramza down defiantly, "I'm not going back. I have to go after Teta."  
  
Ramza smiled sadly and nodded, "It was worth a try. I made sure to bring enough money to last us a week of sleeping and eating in Inns. They went to Fort Zeakden, but we'll have to go around the long way through Fovohom otherwise Dycedarg will catch us."  
  
Delita stared at his friend blankly for a moment before he fully understood what had just been said, "You're... planning to come with me."  
  
"Of course. When I told Algus that you're like my brother, I wasn't just saying that. You're talking about barging into the middle of a battle. You could be killed!" Ramza scratched his head and sighed, "I could never live with myself if I let you go alone."  
  
Delita nodded graciously, unable to express his actual gratitude. He leaned back in the beaten down grass and watched the faint traces of sunset behind the wall of melanchony gray, "I've... felt out of place for a while now."  
  
"Are you thinking about what Algus said?"  
  
Delita closed his eyes, "I guess there are some things you can never change, no matter how hard you try."  
  
Ramza looked away, "You shouldn't think like that Delita. You know I don't feel that way."  
  
"Not everyone is like you Ramza. I know Dycedarg has never liked me. And everyone at the academy always thought like Algus does." Ramza didn't answer, so Delita continued, "Do you think I could be a General if I tried hard enough?" he asked, "I want to save Teta on my own, but I can't do anything. I'm... 'useless'."  
  
"You're not useless, Delita." Ramza protested, "And I hardly think you need to become a General to rescue your sister."  
  
"That's not the point Ramza. Do you think I could ever become a General anyways? Say, in ten years from now?"  
  
Ramza tugged at the grass and considered the question, "Well, if I could ever become a General, you definitely could. I think you've got a much better chance at it than I do... I mean, you're practically at the top of the class and I'm not embarassed to say that you're better in a fight..."  
  
"But Ramza, you're a noble."  
  
Ramza looked up and furrowed his brow, "What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
Delita very nearly laughed, "Ramza, you're very niave, you know that." he opened his eyes again and gazed up at his friend thoughtfully, "But I suppose I like that about you. If you weren't so naive, we wouldn't be friends, would we?"  
  
Ramza blinked and began tugging at the grass again. There was another moment of silence, then Ramza said, "Hey, Delita. Remember when father taught us to play that reed flute." he dug in his travelling pack and examined the delicately carved instrument, "You were always much better at it."  
  
Delita sat up and took the small flute from Ramza's hands, "Ramza, do you think I'm better at everything than you?"  
  
Ramza shrugged, "I guess. I'm no good at anything. I'll never be like Zalbag or Dycedarg."  
  
"Ramza, you're not that worthless. You're just focusing on the wrong things."  
  
"What do you mean by that?"  
  
Delita shook his head, "Nevermind, Ramza. You'll understand eventually. Let me just say that there are some things more important in life than warfare." he lifted the flute to his lips and began to play. The tune was slow, epic and mournful.  
  
" 'Great Warrior'?" the music stopped abruptly, "You always had an ear for sad songs."  
  
"What do you want me to play?"  
  
"Something happy." Ramza tapped his thumb against his chin in thought, then nodded firmly, "Yes. Play 'Waltz for the Moon'."  
  
The edges of Delita's mouth turned upwards in a slight smile. He began playing again. This time the tune was light and merry. The song was reminiscent of happier times. Ramza leaned back on his palms and tried to spy the first night star through the gloom.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Miluda wasn't deluding herself. She had lost more blood than she was able to account for and she highly doubted that any of the inexpeirienced chemists or priests in the Death Corps's ranks would have the skill to save her life. The least she could do was give Wiegraf the message that could save his life.  
  
She hated that it had to end this way. Would she die without honor? A victim of a CHILD who died from a shallow wound without even taking one of her foe with her. When they spoke the name of Miluda Folles would it be with scorn and shame? Would she drag down her brother's honor with her failure?  
  
No, the least she could do would be to deliever her message. She refused to give up in such a desolte, barren place as the Lenalia Plateau, faceless and insignificant. She doubted that the discovery of her body would even be reported by passing caravans. It would simply be shoved out of the way into a ditch or a gutter and forgotten. Wiegraf would always wonder what had happened but he would know that she had failed him.  
  
Fainlly, she collapsed, 'Only for a moment.' she told herself, 'Just a short rest. I'll continue walking, it's only two more days until I reach the windmill...' but night was falling and chill creeping into the air. Winter had finally begun and Miluda knew that she most likely would never raise from her resting place again.  
  
Then she heard voices. They were very faint, but moving closer and familiar. Miluda had a sharp memory and never forgot a face or voice. She strained her ears as the voices swayed closer, and then it hit her. They were the boys who had nearly killed her at the thieves fort in Igros. The Beoulve, she was sure, and his little pet stable boy. But where was the third one? The crass, classist moron who spoke with the accent of Limberry. She shakily forced herself to her feet, ripe with new resolve. She drew her sword and leaned on it like a walking stick, steadying herself into an almost casual position.  
  
Finally, the boys came into sight. They stopped a few feet away, staring at her in shock through the dimming light.  
  
"You!" the Beoulve gasped.  
  
The stable boy appraoched her first, anger in his steady movement, "Where is Wiegraf? Where did he take Teta?"  
  
Miluda blinked, trying to remember what the last messanger had told her, "Teta? You mean the Beoulve girl?"  
  
"She's my sister!" he shouted, "She has nothing to do with them!"  
  
"I'm sorry." Miluda said coldly, "There's nothing I can do about it. None of this would have happened if nobles like your little blonde friend over there didn't take everything from us." she looked over the dark haired boy's shoulder and called out. "You hear that! This is your fault! All we ask is for a little respect, but no... you just keep taking from us! You brought this upon yourself!"  
  
"Don't try to blame this on him." the stable boy grumbled, "You ask for respect, but how will you ever earn it if you don't even take responsibilities for your actions?"  
  
Miluda snorted, "How can 'animals' be responsible for their own actions. Nobles don't even know how to keep up their own double standards. They'll have to make the first move, or they'll have a Revolution on their hands."  
  
The Beoulve had come closer now. He settled his soft brown eyes on Miluda in a rather disconcerting fashion, "Wait. You said Revolution. Do you think that's really necessary?"  
  
"Of course it is! Your types will never listen to us unless we take drastic measures!" Suddenly, she jerked her sword up and charged at the Beoulve with the last of her strength. She felt the cold hand of death upon her, and if she was going to go she would die in the heat of battle, not curled up on the cold, winter ground trying to keep herself warm.  
  
The stable boy made a grab for her, but she was too fast. The Beoulve fumbled for his sword and barely managed to have it drawn when she hit him. He was far stronger than her in this state and easily put her down, but she attacked again even as the strength drained out of her arms and legs. He jabbed at her uselessly and desperately with his blade. Miluda swung her own sword weakly, then, despite the fact it was against everything that she stood for, flung herself at him. Whether it was intentional or not, his sword went through her stomach. She laughed madly and slumped to her knees.  
  
"Beoulve... tell my brother..." she coughed into the back of her hand. When she brought it away, her glove was stained with blood, "Tell my brother that I died... honorably..." the boy pulled the sword from her body and the darkness set in.  
  
  
*  
  
  
"I... I didn't mean to kill her..." Ramza whispered.  
  
"But she did mean for you to." Delita wrapped his fingers around Ramza's arm and pulled him away from the dead body of the woman, "We should get going or we'll never make it to an Inn before night falls."  
  
"Wait, Delita. We shouldn't just leave her in the middle of the road like that." Delita released Ramza and the blonde boy went to his fallen foe and lifted her into his arms. He struggled beneath the weight of her Knight's armour, but finally managed to heft her to the side of the road. He raked a small pile of leaves with his hands and covered her body as well as he could. Then he closed her eyes and covered her face. He used her sword as a grave marker, then walked back to where Delita had stood watching.  
  
"That's what I meant Ramza, back outside of Igros. That there are more important things than war."  
  
"Are you okay Delita?"  
  
Delita shook his head and continued to stare at where Ramza had buried the she-Knight, "Who am I, Ramza? Who... what am I? A commoner or a noble? I don't know anymore... I think like a noble but I'm treated as much like an animal as she is. Was Algus right? Should I not be friends with you? Should I just go join the Death Corps and fight against your brothers?"  
  
Ramza understood that his friend's mood was delicate. He searched for the right words, "I wouldn't worry about it, Delita. You're not a commoner and you're not a noble. You're just... Delita."  
  
Delita was quiet. He nodded stiffly then began again down the road. Ramza thought for a moment that he might have said exactly the wrong thing, but decided it was better not to stress over it and followed. Later that night, it occured to him that he hadn't even known the name of the woman he killed.  
  
  
*  
  
  
"Who's she?" Wiegraf demanded the moment he entered the windmill. Golagros and a few other more seasoned troops lounged about, sitting and even laying on the boxes piled high at the back of the room. They leapt to attention when Wiegraf entered the room... all but one. She wasn't one of his troops. A young girl, no more than twelve or thirteen, and dressed in detailed robes of dark purple velvet. She was gagged, blindfolded and possibly unconcious, "I thought I said we'd be taking no more hostages!"  
  
"Whoa!" Golagros held up his arms, "Don't put me with Gustav. This was different. The assasination attempt went wrong and I needed to take a hostage to escape."  
  
"You could have let her go afterwards! What was the idea bringing her here!?"  
  
"Well, we have the advantage now. They won't dare attack us because we've got her here... and she's a Beoulve. We can escape!"  
  
"What's the point in escaping!?" Wiegraf exclaimed, exasperated by Golgaros's near-sightedness, "We'll just get caught again! We have to go down fighting!"  
  
Golagros turned white, "You mean... you'd have us die!"  
  
"And take as many nobles with us as we can! It would be a honorable death!"  
  
"We'll die like dogs!"  
  
"No!" Wiegraf slammed his fist on the wall, the thud echoing throughout the small mill house, "No death will ever be in vain! Even a small ripple will eventually become a wave! This isn't the end, you idiot, it's the beginning!"  
  
"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Wiegraf, but I come bearing ill news." Wiegraf spun to face the young messanger who stood in the doorway. She was dirty and panting, but holding no parchment. The news was fresh.  
  
"Tell me." he commanded.  
  
She bit her lip, the appraoched him, whispering it hesitantly. Wiegraf listened, then reeled back, catching himself on a cargo box. He sat down slowly and rested his hands on his knees, "It can't be..." he murmered, "It can't be!" he repeated, louder this time, "Miluda... dead?"  
  
The messanger nodded sadly, "I'm sorry. We found her body by the road in Lenalia Plateau this morning. She had been covered with leaves, and they used her sword to mark her grave. You may visit it if you like."  
  
Wiegraf had stopped listening at some point. The blood pounded in his ears and his mind reeled in disbelief. Miluda? Dead? Who could kill Miluda? Her will was iron and her strength could match any man's! She would never allow herself to be defeated without at least putting up an admirable fight! Even worse, if she was dead, what was Wiegraf supposed to do? They had been together since they were just kids in their parent's small bakery. They went into the war together, even formed the Death Corps together. If she was gone, how could Wiegraf ever face his parents in the afterlife? He had made a promise to protect her as long as he drew breath. His mother would never look him in the face, his father would never again speak to him. He had let them down, let Miluda down.  
  
"Sir, also there are two young cadets approaching. They are dressed like Hokuten, but I don't think their intents are of violence."  
  
Wiegraf rose, "Them! It must be them who killed my sister!" he ran towards the door, his thoughts composed of nothing but the thirst for revenge.  
  
  
*  
  
  
When Ramza and Delita mounted the first rise in the hills of Fovohom Plains, Wiegraf Folles was waiting for them. His sword was drawn and he had murder in his eyes. Delita drew his sword and rushed forwards, "Where is my sister!" he called.  
  
Wiegraf raised a hand to motion for Delita to stop, "First, tell me which one of you killed MY sister."  
  
Ramza's heart stopped, "You're... sister?" he asked breathlessly.  
  
"Her name was Miluda Folles and she was a proud warrior. Which one of you murdered her!"  
  
It all came together in Ramza's mind. Miluda, that was the woman's name. Her last words had been, 'Tell my brother that I died honorably.' Ramza came forwards hand on chest and eyes downcast, "You sister died honorably." he said softly, eager to make good the poor woman's dying request.  
  
This did not comfot Wiegraf, though. If anything, the fire in the man's eyes flared, "You!" he hissed, "You wretched noble!"  
  
"Wait!" Delita demanded, "Tell me what happened to Teta! Where did you take my sister! We came all this way for her!"  
  
Wiegraf barely glanced at Delita from the corner of his gaze, "She's in there." he jerked his thumb towards the windmill, "We were going to let her go anyways. You came all this way for nothing, Beoulve."  
  
"He's not a Beoulve." Ramza corrected, "I am. Delita has nothing to do with it!"  
  
Wiegraf smirked, "Really now?" he turned fully towards Delita this time, "Go and rescue her. My troops are all gone, so no one will stop you. I have no problem with you."  
  
Delita looked conflicted, but his gaze flickered towards the mill longingly, "Go!" Ramza shouted, "I'll be fine!" Delita glanced at him one last time before running towards the windmill. Ramza turned his attention to Wiegraf and gathered his wits about him.  
  
The Death Corps leader was a merciless warrior. The only thing that saved Ramza at all was his light armour and the fact that he was smaller than the man. He pivoted and dodged like mad, only having the chance to use his sword for blocking. Wiegraf was surprisingly fast for someone who weilded a massive, iron blade. Ramza called upoon everything he had ever learned about swordfighting from his father, brothers, friends and in school.  
  
"You don't have to resort to violence you know," Ramza tried to reason with Wiegraf as he deflected the blade, spinning and bracing himself for the next attack, "If you just talked, we'd listen."  
  
"We've tried talking." Wiegraf retorted angrily, "But you nobles continuously brush us aside!"  
  
"But what if we approached you! I'm sure that my brothers..."  
  
"Your brothers!" Wiegraf laughed as he brought his blade down over Ramza's head. The young Beoulve didn't have time to block it with his sword, so he sidestepped the blow. It caught him in the shoulder, nicking his skin and drawing blood. Ramza cried out and grasped his wound. Wiegraf lowered his sword and stepped back, "You really don't know anything, do you?" he said, astounded, "If you think your brothers would listen to us."  
  
"Dycedarg is a reasonable man. An honorable one. He's a man of Justice!"  
  
Wiegraf laughed again, "Dycedarg? And honorable man? Justice means different things to different people. Let me tell you something about your brother Dycedarg..." the Death Corps leader sheathed his sword and Ramza looked at him expenctantly, "Your elder brother hates commoners as much as the next noble. In fact, he's been the most adamant about turning the masses against us. Who's plot do you think it was to have the Marquis Elmdor kidnapped?"  
  
"What! You can't be insinuating that it was my brother who was behind that?"  
  
"Of course it was! Who else has that kind of influence?"  
  
Ramza was speechless. He didn't want to believe it, but he honestly couldn't trust his brother's word enough anymore to disprove it, "I didn't mean to kill your sister." he said.  
  
Wiegraf growled, "I can hardly believe that... but I'll let you live for now. You'd better go help your friend and his sister. I've got work to do."  
  
  
*  
  
  
When Ramza pushed open the creaky door of the small mill he saw only Delita standing in the center of the room beneath the slowly turning wheel. The dust floated in the air thickly, making it hard to breath. Ramza came close to Delita and asked, "Where's Teta."  
  
"Wiegraf was lying." Delita turned and faced Ramza with glassy eyes, "They took her somewhere else. Maybe killed her. I don't know."  
  
"I don't think they killed her, Delita. They're not monsters."  
  
Suddenly, Delita grabbed Ramza's arms. Not violently like the time at Igros, but gently. Then he rested his forehead on Ramza's shoulder and began to sob quietly. Ramza kept his head held high and tried to think about something else. He tried to keep his mind off Teta's fate, Dycedarg's wounds, Wiegraf's words. It was too much. It all hurt too much.  
  
"Why did this have to happen to Teta?" Delita pleaded, his voice broken and warped through his tears, "She's never harmed a soul in her life. Why her? Why?"  
  
"I don't know..." Ramza answered truthfully, but Delita continued to sob, "Listen... I'm sure she'll be fine. If they took her with them that means they think they can use her as a hostage... let's go to Fort. Zeakden. I'm sure we'll find something there."  
  
Delita nodded weakly, but it was a long time before he dried his tears and moved.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
VIII.  
  
'... the battle at Fort. Zeakden was not a particularily significant battle although it ended the three month terrorization of the Death Corps. Wiegraf Folles and many of his most trusted captians managed to escape the massacre...'  
- The Durai Reports, Chapter II  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Zalbag read and re-read the scroll over and over until he could have practically recited it back just to make sure he hadn't misunderstood. When he finally put it down on his makeshift work desk, he frowned heavily and leaned back in his chair.  
  
'Saving Teta is not a priority.' Dycedarg had wrote, 'It is our first perogative to obliterate the Death Corps. If the girl gets in the way, kill her.'  
  
Zalbag's concious and sense of duty were often at odds, but never before like this. Dycedarg was his brother and commanding officer, but Teta was like a younger sister to him.  
  
"For God's sake, Dycedarg..." Zalbag muttered, covering his eyes with a gloved palm, "The girl is only thirteen years old. Would you have me murder her in cold blood just to satisfy your anger with our Father?"  
  
What would Delita think if he brought Teta back from the battle in a body sack? What would Ramza think? Alma? The three of them would never forgive him... he would never forgive himself! Saving Teta's life may not have been on Dycedarg's 'to-do list', but it certainly was on Zalbag's.  
  
"Sir, there is a cadet here to see you." Zalbag nearly fell off his chair at the interruption. He swivled to see young Ikari the archer standing uneasily at the tent flap, "Should I send him in."  
  
"Yes, of course."  
  
Ikari dissapeared and a moment later a less familair face materialized. It took Zalbag a minute to recognize him, but when he did he wasn't sure whether to be glad or furious, "You're cadet Sadalfas!"  
  
Algus bowed deeply, "At your service, highness."  
  
"What are you doing here! Where are Ramza and Delita!"  
  
"Probably half-way across the Fovohom Plains by my estimate, on their way to Fort. Zeakden."  
  
Zalbag was on his feet in moments, "What did you say? Why would my brother be going there?"  
  
Algus shrugged innocently, "I don't know. Maybe it somehow got out that your dear brother Dycedarg wasn't as anxious to save Teta's pathetic commoner life as they were."  
  
Zalbag gasped as he realized what this meant, and grabbed a fistful of Algus's collar, "You sent them out! How could you! They could be killed!"  
  
Algus shrugged again, "I didn't tell them to go. It was their choice, and they knew the risk when they left." he detached Zalbag's hands from the scruff of his shirt and brushed himself down, "Anyways. There's nothing you can do about it now, is there?"  
  
Zalbag hung his head and went back to his seat, "What do you want Algus? Why did you come here?"  
  
Algus got on to one knee and laid his sword out before Zalbag, "Please, accept me into the ranks of Hokuten. I will be your loyal squire and accompany you into battle, risk my life for you even. I will prove myself to be nothing but loyal and perfect in my servitude. Please, it is the only way I know to regain my family's honor."  
  
Zalbag was vexed. Even when he failed to answer instantaneously, Algus didn't rise. The boy was scum, and most likely a rat, but there was no harm in taking him on this one mission, was there? He could prove himself either trustworthy or a weasel and then Zalbag would be finished with him.  
  
Besides, being cold hearted was Dycedarg's forte and Algus seemed truly sincere.  
  
  
*  
  
  
They were less than a day from Fort Zeakden, but Ramza had still insisted that they bed for the night. The snows had continued and they boys had spent a good portion of their Inn funds to buy themselves Winter cloaks. Due to this, they were now spending the evening in the cheapest, seediest hotel in the backstreets of a small, Fovohom hovel. They ate little and spoke even less, the battle that they were about to walk into looming heavily over their every action. Delita hadn't been the same since the day in the windmill and neither had Ramza in a sense. No matter what he rationalized, he couldn't find a way around Wiegraf's words.  
  
'Dycedarg's plot?' he thought, 'My brother has a plot... So what happens now? Will he disown me? He has the power... and would Zalbag allow him to do it? And then... what about Delita...'  
  
His gaze strayed to the window where Delita sat, disinterestidly staring out the window at the snow as it piled softly in the muddy streets below. It was as if he had already decided Teta was dead, but had to see it with his own eyes.  
  
One of Ramza's childhood tutors had explained to him the story of Murond, about how they prosecuted St. Ajora and then were swallowed up by the sea. The tutor said that not all of the Murondic people died in the calamity. Only a few had survived, but they became scattered and nomadic. All their noble families had lost face and formed the Murond Church of the Shrine Knights and all their farmers and millers had spread throughout Ivalice and become even pooer than they had been while their country still lived. No one had ever directly asked Delita or Teta about it, but most believed that their family had been one of the few pure-blooded Murondic families left. There weren't many dark haired people in Ivalice, especially outside of the church.  
  
Even Delita's name was old Murondic. When translated broadly into Ikoku, it meant 'Delicate', but Ramza's tutor had translated it more specifically as 'One who should be approached delicately' or 'with caution'. Ramza had agreed that the latter description suited his close friend more accurately, though now, the less literal meaning occured to him. Delita had a strong face, but he held a lot of pain in his heart. Ramza had never thought about how losing one's parents could affect a child. He never for a moment considered that maybe all the teasing Delita endured at school hurt. The other boy was so talented at supressing his emotions that Ramza sometimes forgot that he had them.  
  
This was how Ramza thought about Delita: he's far stronger and smarter than me, like my brothers, but different because I can actually talk to him.  
  
'My God...' Ramza thought about everything any member of the Death Corps had ever said to him, 'They're all right. I'm just like the rest of the nobles. Just because I'm friends with Delita doesn't mean that I care about commoners... hell, I don't even really care about him. I've never given his feelings or his hardships a second thought and he's always just nodded and stood by loyaly like... like a servant."  
  
Ramza couldn't stand to look as his friend anymore. He threw himself onto the furtherst bunk from the window and buried his face in the musty pillow, 'Tommorow,' he told himself, 'Tommorow, after we save Teta I'll apologize. I'll make sure that Delita knows I really am his friend and not just his 'master'.' he rolled on to his back and sighed at the dark ceiling, 'That is if it's not already too late...'  
  
  
*  
  
  
The snow was up to their knees and still falling on the morning of the battle. Ramza and Delita payed the Inn clerk and headed for the Fort, holding thier thick fur coats together at the breast and sheilding their faces against the wind. The storm died down close to noon, and that was when they found their first body. He was a member of the Death Corps, which was suiting becuase it was doubtful that any Hokuten would fall before the day was out.  
  
They quickened their pace and soon passed land where there was still scattered fighting. They dodged between patches of thicket and woodland before finally reaching the Fort. The fighting wasn't as hot as they had expected it to be, but they still tried to remain out of sight. They pressed themselves up against the back of a tall archer mount and peaked their heads around the corners where they were able to see the action clearly.  
  
It was nearly an hour of standing painfully still in that hidden snowbank when Zalbag entered the scene, followed closely by... Algus Sadalfas.  
  
"That rat!" Delita hissed, "He went straight to your brother... of all the nerve..."  
  
"Shh, Delita. Let's watch what happens."  
  
A loyal Hokuten felled the last of the Death Corps, and then approached Zalbag, saluting. Ramza's brother nodded and motioned for him to fall back in line. The company was about to leave when a crazed, but clear, voice sounded out from the bridge above the archer turrets.  
  
All heads turned skywards, where the last Death Corps captain swayed against the winds, holding a girl to his chest with one arm, a torch in the other.  
  
"Teta!" Delita exclaimed. Ramza grabbed his arm to steady him. The Death Corps captain had a dangerous, desperate look in his eyes. Who knew what might happen if Delita were to suddenly rush out into the open.  
  
"Nobody move!" the Knight screamed. He kept faltering as Teta squirmed beneath his grasp, "There are enough explosives in the Fort to send us all to hell! If you know what's good for you, you'll leave now and let me live!"  
  
The next few events seemed to pass impossibly slow. Ramza watched in terror as Zalbag turned towards Algus and nodded heavily. The Limberry cadet raised his crossbow and aimed. Delita ripped himself away from Ramza grasp and threw himself into the middle of the Fort grounds, screaming his sister's name. As the arrows flew, Zalbag aquired a wild look and knocked Algus's arms aside.  
  
It was too late. Time restored itself and the first arrow imbedded itself it Teta's chest. The girl didn't shriek, only made a strangled noise, then fell from the bridge, hitting the ground with a sickening thud and the sound of breaking bones. The second arrow strayed a bit and hit the Death Corps Knight in his shoulder. He was suitiably shocked to see that his enemies had killed the hostage so readily and had the sense to crumple over like one dead. No one except Ramza saw him crawl towards the barracks entrace and slam the door shut behind him, and no one cared.  
  
Zalbag observed the entire scene hopelessly and then, as if deciding he couldn't deal with what had just happened, he spun on his heel and ordered his troops to move out. Ramza wanted to run after him, but he could do nothing but stare at Teta's lifeless body lying facedown in the bloodied snow.  
  
"You rat!" Delita hollered, lunging at Algus and pinning the cadet against the side of a turret. He drew his sword lightning fast and held it steadily against the Limberry's throat, "Give me one reason I should let you live!"  
  
Algus didn't speak to Delita, though. Instead, he called out to Ramza, "Ho Beoulve! What are you so upset about!? She was just a common girl!"  
  
Ramza had never felt such rage. He came up beside Delita and glared at the cadet like he was the dirt beneath his boots, "How could you do it, Algus? Why something so terrible?"  
  
"It's about time you learned about 'difference', Ramza." Algus continued, totally oblivious to the fact that there was a sharpened blade pressing against his jugular, "Different birth, totally different life! You can't be seen with animals like the Hyrals. Don't you understand, you've got Beoulve honor to uphold! Not just for your own sake, but for everyone else's. Other noble families depend on yours to protect them and set the standard. If you step out of line, the others are lost."  
  
"But I don't want to live that kind of life." Ramza shivered in the cold and pointedly ignored the dead body lying no more thean four feet away from him, "I don't want to live just being used by others."  
  
"The Beoulves are used because of who they are, what they mean. We need their protection and they need our loyalty. Don't you see, it's a give and take relationship."  
  
"Well, I don't want to live like that!" Ramza snapped, meeting at Algus;s eyes for the first time. The Limberry native was smirking.  
  
"That's absolute pish posh." he replied, "That's how everyone lives. Everyone uses everyone. Why, you've even been using your best friend Delita here, am I right?"  
  
"What?" Ramza widened his eyes, "Me... using Delita?"  
  
"Shut up." Delita warned, pressing the blade closer, "You aren't worth the time we're wasting listening to you."  
  
Algus snickered, "That's right, Delita. Get angry. Get furious, because it's all you can do. You're not worth the soles of my booths, you filthy little animal."  
  
"Ramza." Delita said heavily, "If you want to say something to save this poor bastard's life I would appreciate hearing it right now."  
  
Ramza answer was to turn his back on the scene and close his eyes. Algus Sadalfas died quietly and quickly, but only time would tell if his participation in the Fort Zeakden battle would clear his family's name.  
  
Ramza leaned against the turret where Algus had died and studied the ground, thinking and wondering where he was to go from here. Delita had walked over to his sister's body and lifted it in his arms when the first spark crackled above them.  
  
"Oh shit!" Ramza remembered what the Death Corps captain had said about the explosives, "Delita, the entire palce is about to burn! We have to get out of here!"  
  
But Delita was unconcerned. He didn't even acknowledge Ramza's words. Ramza was about to runs towards him, but a sudden eruption of fire across the bridge collapsed the structure and he was thrown back ten feet. Ramza coughed, unable to see or breathe properally in the thick, black smoke produced by the explosion, but still he dragged himself to his knees and searched frantically.  
  
"Delita!" he called, "Delita! Where are you!"  
  
His last thought before blacking out was the hope that his oldest, dearest friend had at least died instantly and painlessly.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
IX.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The fake last name didn't fool Gafgharion. He had known from the moment the boy entered the bar that he was a Beoulve. He dressed like a mercenary, but moved and spoke like a noble. He was all soft edges and deft movements, none of that coarseness characteristic of the hard life. He didn't swear, didn't smoke and didn't drink. Who did the boy think he was fooling?  
  
But Gafgharion listened to his story patiently, and even agreed to hire him but as soon as the exchange of money and contracts was finished, he pounced on him.  
  
"Now that you're in my contract, boy, I think that you're obliged to tell me the truth."  
  
The boy blinked softly. Innocently, "What do you mean? The truth is what I told you."  
  
"I know you're a Beoulve." Gafgharion whispered over his beer. The boy turned white and for a moment looked as if he were about to start crying, "And not just any Beoulve." the mercenary continued, "You're Ramza Beoulve, the youngest of Balbanes son. You weren't fooling anyone. You may be dressed like a poor boy, but you're the spitting image of your father. What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn't you be dead, or at least bed-ridden? I've heard about what happened at Fort Zeakden... did your brother's disown you or something?"  
  
Ramza sighed and lowered his head, staring contemplatively into his untouched beer, "I really don't know..." he replied slowly, "I guess that when it came down to it... I just dropped it all and ran..." 


	4. CHAPTER TWO: The Manipulator and the Sub...

CHAPTER TWO: The Manipulator and the Subservient  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I.  
  
'Ramza essentially ran away from home, creating for himself a new name and becoming a mercenary for hire under command of Gaff Gafgharion. Gafgharion himself was a curious fellow, expelled from his elite fighting force after the war because a peaceful Ivalice simply had no place for his brutality. War's greatest warriors must usually learn to fight like dogs to survive and unfortunately, they usually die like dogs whether on the battlefield, or in aimless, post-war pursuits.'  
- The Durai Repots, Chapter III  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ramza eased his gaze back to watch the receding rain clouds clear the night sky in their wake. His mind replayed memories vainly, trying to make sense of what he had just seen. Over and over he watched the explosion at Fort Zeakden and over and over he saw Delita engulfed by the flames or caught beneath the falling suspension bridge.  
  
Delita WAS dead. Nothing else made sense... no one could have ever survived that inferno.  
  
'Except me,' Ramza reflected bitterly.  
  
"So you know the kidapper, Ramza?" Gafgharion braced himself on the knees of his dark-plated armour and lowered his face so that it was level with Ramza's, "That's what I heard, otherwise you stopped Lady Oakes from saving the Princess for nothing."  
  
Ramza shifted his eyes and sank deeper into his tangled sitting position. Gafgharion produced a fustrated noise form the back of his throat and stood, throwing his arms into the air, "I swear boy, I'll never get a straight answer from you till I lie on my death bed!"  
  
Agrias pushed through the chruch doors suddenly, exiting into the courtyard with her shoulders and head hung as if someone had strung weights over them. She sighed guiltily, then raised her golden eyes and set heavy stares on the small gathering, "If he has the Princess with him, he can't of gotten far. We should leave immidietly."  
  
Gafgharion 'hpmh'ed at her then placed his hands on his hips haughtily, "What makes you think we'll help you? It's not in the contract."  
  
"I don't need help from one who is not even a Knight!" Agrias retorted harshly, "A Knight must fix his own mistakes. This is one of my respnsibilities as Ovelia's gaurdian. It's something I must take care of by myself." she hesitated a moment, the reached deep into one of her many pockets and brought out a water-stained peice of crumpled parchment. She turned to her last Knight and handed her the paper, "Lavian." she said gravely as the Knight fell to attention, "I am giving you your leave. As of now you are no longer part of the Hokuten."  
  
Lavian's blue eyes widened and became frantic, "But... Captain..."  
  
Agrais silenced her with a sharp hand gesture, "Your compensation money should become available in less than a week. I want you to deliver Alycya's will to her husband. He would better know what to do with then I."  
  
Lavian swallowed her pride and bowed quickly, mumbling affirmation and thanks. She tucked the paper into her pouch and nodded one last time before leaving hastily.  
  
"Why aren't you leaving too, Captain?" the tone Gafgharion inflicted Agrias's title with was almost mockery, "Why don't you just let us take care of this small matter?"  
  
Agrias glanced at him sharply, "First you say that you won't help me, now you're telling me to let you take care of it? What exactly is it that you want?"  
  
Gafgharion smiled enigmatically and spread his arms, "I want what you want, m'lady... as long as it's in the contract of course."  
  
Agrias raised an eyebrow skeptically, "And what exactly does this contract of yours entrail?"  
  
"Sorry. That's confidential information."  
  
Agrias snorted, "Might as well guessed. Listen, Gafgharion," her voice was firm and deadly serious, "I really don't care if you and your boys here tag along or not, but I'm going to save Ovelia on my Knight's honor. I'll never be able to face the royal family again if I don't. And that's that."  
  
"Let me come with you!" Ramza leapt to his feet suddenly, "I promise I won't be a burden!"  
  
"Are you crazy?" Gafgharion exclaimed, "This's none of our business. None of yours, especially."  
  
Ramza fixed his commander with a pleading gaze, "I have to know, Gafgharion. I have to see it with my own eyes!"  
  
"You mean that boy you saw." Agrais interrupted softly.  
  
"So you DO know him." Gafgharion paced a few steps, his arms crossed and expression dissaproving. Finally he sighed and shook his head, "You're all stubborn as mules. Fine, whatever. Rad and I will come with you, but if something happens, don't come crying to me."  
  
  
*  
  
  
Mirai Bottoms was at the top of his game during the best of times. The current job was dressed like a Knight, or at least a member of the church and would look aristocratic if not for his dark hair, the color of chestnuts. He tapped in the hilt of his sword imaptiently as the young assasin counted the bills.  
  
"500 gil?" Bottoms leveled his stare with the Knight's "Don't you think that's a bit low?"  
  
The Knight's voice was deadpan and uninterested, "And what would you have me pay you?"  
  
"I think that 2000 sounds like a more reasonable rate."  
  
The Knight crossed his arms, settling his decision, 'It would be easy to make you all heretics, you know."  
  
"Is that a threat?" Bottoms hesistated then, because if it were, it would be a valid one. He looked the Knight over again, this time noticing the strange insigna over his left breast, which most certainly could stand for a church of some sort, "Um, how about 1000?"  
  
"700, no more." The Knight handed over the extra stack of bills before Bottoms could argue further. The mercenary flipped through them and sighed. 700 wasn't bad, but...  
  
"They'll be through here anytime now. It'll be a young woman and an older man. They may or may not have two youths with them. Either way it's inconsequential. Kill them all, understand?"  
  
Bottoms nodded eargerly, "Of course. That was the deal, wasn't it?"  
  
Voices rounded the corner. It was unusual to see or hear folks round the back alleys during the day. The Knight's mouth crinkled up at the edges in what Bottoms would guess was a smile, "Speak of the devil..."  
  
  
*  
  
  
Agrias really was trying her hardest. To ignore Gafgharion's attempts at chatter, that was. She was wracking her brain senseless trying to figure out where the kidnapper would have taken the princess, she even tried asking the boy where his friend would go. Ramza just looked sad and shook his head, saying:  
  
"I don't even know if it was him, and even so..."  
  
The young mercenary seemed to have a few pointed problems with finishing his sentences. He'd start out as if he were certain, but at some point his voice would fade and his vision would grow dewy and distant. Agrias wondered if this was a permenant condition of his, or if his thoughts were just elsewhere, much like hers.  
  
"Lady Oakes, a moment of your precious time?"  
  
Agrias spun on her heel and shot Gafgharion a death look, "I have no time for you, Gaff. Since all you care about is money, how much gil would it take to seal your mouth shut?"  
  
"Well, if that's really what you want." Gafgharion lowered his voice, "I just thought that you might want to know... we're being followed."  
  
A hush fell upon the small group. Rad whimpered slightly and reached for his sword and Agrias scanned the alley sharply. They were taking the back streets as to avoid the prying eyes of any Nanten spy that might be around but upon reflection, this seemed like less and less a wise idea.  
  
Sure enough, there were footsteps. They plodded softly somewhere to the far right and crunching rooftile. In the wake of silence, they sped up.  
  
"Only one." Agrias whispered. Rad seemed to relax slightly at this, but he still kept his hand near his sword, "Dressed lightly and wearing germaines boots, probably. Doesn't sound like anything more than an overgrown thief who fancies himself an assasin in these hard times... still, draw your swords."  
  
"Excuse me, Lady Oakes, but these are my men and I give the orders, and I don't usually do freebies." Gafgharion waited until Agrias's expression was one of ultimate seething to wink and finish his statement, "But for one so beautiful as you, I'll make an exception."  
  
Gafgharion drew his sword and rose up in one fluid movement as the young assasin threw himself from the rooftop, double knives bared and face frantic. The fight was quick, the older mercenary's movements both graceful and deadly. The assasin was dead within two slashes. Rad watched with an admiring gaze as Gafgharion dutifully searched the young boy's pockets, turning up a thin stack of bills.  
  
"Only 700?" Gafgharion pouted slightly, "I'm almost insulted. I've delivered milk and bread for more than this kid's job thought we were worth."  
  
"Or it could have been a warning." Agrias stated rationally, "I don't think anyone would be stupid enough to set one assasin out after a Knight and three reasonably seasoned mercenaries. There's something more to it."  
  
"And who would be trying to kill us, Lady Oakes?"  
  
"I know!" Rad piped up enthusiastically, "Goltana!"  
  
Agrias shook her head, "No, I don't think Goltana was behind this. He has more sense. If he wanted us dead, we'd be dead."  
  
"What about the Knights at the castle?" Gafgharion challenged, "Did he not want us dead there?"  
  
"That was just a distraction. He has the princess, what should he care that we follow now that he's taking her to a safe place."  
  
"You know where that boy's taking the princess?" Gafgharion's tone was a little snide and most definitely dry.  
  
"Later. There are too many curious ears about. Let us room for the night and I'll tell you all then."  
  
  
*  
  
  
The Inn was called the 'Final Heaven'. Ramza had never liked small Inns with dramatic names, they always made him think of people dressing themselves up to look like more than they were. Like when vain, rich ladies piled on the makeup. Captain Oakes wore no makeup. She was a good, sturdy woman and Ramza liked her quite a bit, though her ineffectual manner made her seem inapproachable. She payed for the room and board of course, under a fake name. After their things were put away and everything taken care of she dissapeared.  
  
"Out to do some shopping." Gafgharion scoffed, "Women..."  
  
Rad strayed behind the grizzled mercenary like a lost puppy, but Ramza left the Inn, anxious to get some fresh air and time alone to think. As he drifted through the dimly lit streets avoiding the more trafficked areas, he allowed his mind to linger on those less-desirable subjects.  
  
'Delita...' little else seemed to come up, which was understandable since little else caused him conflict. He felt a little guilty as he had almost forgotten was his childhood friend looked like. Now he would always remember, because these things were important. Like the way Teta's hair would lift in the breeze and the warm sound of Delita's rare laughter. It was like morning sunlight and the way his long fingers worked ceaselessly as he played the pipe, or wrote out those impossibly long essays for school, or even wrung the bucket up from the well when he worked in the stables on Sundays. The inticrite way Zalbag wore his hair, all in braids and twists; or the quick, sharp movements of Dycedarg's cold eyes as he read; or even the petulant way Alma would clench her skirts in her small fists when she didn't get her way. Ramza had begun to forget everything about his siblings, even the ones who were still living.  
  
'Have I become that numb?' he wondered, 'Have I almost become someone else?'  
  
He nearly walked past the store without noticing Agrias's gold-blonde head ducked over the counter. He stopped and stared at her through the dirty window. She seemed to be concentrating on the examination of a wrapped sword, waving the chittery store clerk away as she looked. Ramza took a deep breath and entered the shop. A bell tinkled and the clerk looked up from Agrias and rushed to meet the new customer.  
  
"Good evening sir, and what sort of weapon would you be looking for tonight, sir?"  
  
Ramza shook his head apologetically, "No, I'm sorry. I just came in here because..."  
  
"Ramza Ruglia, good to see you." Agrias glanced up from her work and sounded almost genuinely glad that Ramza had come, "Come here and tell me what you think of this sword."  
  
Ramza ambled his way towards the table where the sword sat and looked it over. It was plain and gray-silver, probably iron cast, with a strip of leather wrapped several times over on the hilt. He wonddered what exactly he was supposed to be looking at, then answered, "Um... it's an okay sword, I guess... it's a bit boring."  
  
"What kind of mercenary are you?" Agrias marvelled, "It's not the extravagance that matters. This is as fine a sword as you'll find anywheres. I was thinking of picking it up for you."  
  
Ramza looked at her with surprise, "What? Why would you buy me a sword?"  
  
"Here, give me yours." Ramza unhinged his blade a bit clumsily, then handed it to the female Knight. She stepped back and swung it in a wide arc, "You see, you're sword isn't properally balanced. You can't go around fighting with this. It may cost you your life."  
  
"Rad's isn't any better than mine..."  
  
"You'd be surprised... where did you get this anyways... please don't tell me you bought it."  
  
Ramza almost slipped and told her that it was his training sword from Gariland before he caught himself, remebering that he was pretending not to be a noble, "Um, it's been passed down through my family for a while. It's was my great grandfather's, I think..."  
  
Agrais's handed him back his sword with a skeptical and lofty gaze, "You don't expect me to believe that, do you? I know you're a noble."  
  
"What!" Ramza wrung his hands together and shifted his gaze, "I'm not a... but... what gives you that idea?"  
  
Agrias smiled thinly, "You're soft. And on top of that, you're not even excited about these jobs like Rad is. You could be out commanding an army right now if you really wanted, so it's no wonder that being a small-time merc doesn't thrill you."  
  
Ramza shook his head, "No, it's not that, it's just..."  
  
"Nevermind. It's not important, Ramza. I'm sorry I pried. I'm sure you have some very good reasons that are none of my business."  
  
Agrias bought the sword and the two headed back to the Inn together in silence. Ramza ran his fingers over his new sword and thought about the one Zalbag had picked out for him. It felt the same, but there were carved vines down the blade and the hilt curved out like two ornamental wings. The sword Agrias had bought handled just as well, but it was only the basics. Ramza allowed his gaze to wander and noticed that for all her prestige and honor, Agrias's own sword was plain and un-decorated as well.  
  
'I am soft, aren't I? I'm so transparent...' Ramza became suddenly self concious of the careful, uptight way he was walking and tried a more casual stride, 'I've got to learn how to be rough like Captain Oakes or Gafgharion. I'll need to learn how to be a warrior, how to live without praise...' Ramza's thoughts flickered back to the academy for a moment and he wondered what his old classmates were up to, 'I wonder what Delita would have... what he IS like now... he could probably pass for a mercenary easily. I'd bet he's a Knight by now...'  
  
He gripped the sword tightly and bowed his head. Night was falling and they would be out before dawn. He would find out how Delita was changed soon enough.  
  
  
*  
  
  
"How do you know Gafgharion?" Rad asked giddily the moment Agrias and Ramza slid into the seats adjacent to him. Ramza had almost forgotten about Rad's burning curiosity towards that particular matter. He already had his own theories, that Gafgharion and Agrias had been tragic lovers years ago. Rad worshipped the older mercenary and admired Agrias the way little boys admire strong, beautiful women, and thought it rather romantic.  
  
"Can't you see it, Ramza?" he whispered as the two Knights exchanged verbal blows ahead of them, "They really love each other!"  
  
Agrias sighed heavily and nursed her beer, brushing a strand of twany, ill-kempt hair behind an ear in an act of rare delicacy. She really was a pretty woman, despite her coarse nature and unforgiving stares.  
  
"Gaff Gafgharion and I met on a job four or five years ago. It was just after I became a Knight, cleaning up after the treaty had been signed."  
  
"Five YEARS!?" Rad screeched, "How old are you?"  
  
Agrais tipped her head at him, gaze icy and percise, "I'm only twenty-four. You can wipe that silly look off your face, Tupper."  
  
Rad fixed his expression accordingly, then folded his hands in embarassment, "Anyways, about this job..."  
  
"Well... Gafgharion and I worked together for nearly three months and he proved himself to be just the cold-hearted, impertinent bastard I grew to know him as."  
  
"And..."  
  
"And that was that. End of story."  
  
Ramza got the distinct feeling that it was indeed NOT the end of the story, but before he could say so Gafgharion plopped himself in the one empty seat at their table, a firm grip on a mug of ill colored ale.  
  
"Ho Ramza, Rad! Lady Oakes!" Agrias's expression became that of absolute stress and she quietly removed herself from the gathering, "Drink your brew and be merry!" he called after her.   
  
She left the bar area without so much as a glance over her shoulder. When she was gone, Gafgharion looked at Rad and Ramza meaningfully and whistled, "She's a cold one, Lady Oakes is, but a more right woman you won't find anywheres. Trust me, I've looked. She's the face of an angel and the temper of a caged tiger. She'd as soon run her sword through you than give you the time of day." he took a deep swig of his drink. His tone darkened, "And believe me, I've tried..."  
  
Rad's eyes widened and he looked at Ramza excitedly, mouthing: 'I told you so.'  
  
Ramza, however, was the one who asked, "You mean... you tried to court her?"  
  
Gafgharion nodded somberly, "One of the more misguided things I've done in my life."  
  
"But... but..." Ramza stuttered, "She was, what?"  
  
"Seventeen. You never would have thought it, though."  
  
"And you... you're old!"  
  
"HEY!" Gafgharion slammed his beer on the table sending little tufts of foam flying, "I take that as a personal offense, boy. This old dog isn't so far gone that he can't land himself a woman now and then. Lady Oakes is just one woman that's never meant to be tamed." he smiled then, "And maybe that's what I find so attractive about her."  
  
Ramza shook his head, not sure what to think anymore. When he, Rad and Gafgharion finally chose to retire they found Agrais already seated on her bed, armour off and sitting crosslegged as she stared out the window. It was a bit strange, sleeping with a woman in the room, but Ramza soon realized that Agrias was used to being the only female among a troop of men. Rad and Ramza took the remaining bed and Gafgharion simply opted to fall asleep sititng up in the armchair. When all was quiet and Ramza was on the edge of slumber, Agrias's soft voice broke through.  
  
"Bethla..." she said, her voice small in the opressive darkness, "They're taking Ovelia to Bethla Garrison."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
II.  
  
'Oh God, forgive my brethern their mistakes  
For they know not what they do  
With all the suffering in this world  
How can one man be everywhere to heal them?'  
- The Writings of St. Ajora, Glabados Chruch  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ovelia shuddered, though her kidnapper had already given her his thick travelling cloak. The night was still young, the stars not yet finished unfolding themselves in the darkening sky. "Do we have to keep going through the night?" she complained, "I'm tired. And we haven't eaten yet. For someone claiming that they're trying to save me, you're not doing a very good job of it."  
  
The words had their desired effect. Her captor stopped a few paces ahead of her and groaned fustratedly. If she couldn't do a thing to relieve herself of this perdiciment, she was at least intent on making it as miserable for this mysterious young man as it was for her. He turned and stared at her quietly as if trying to unravel her intentions, then dropped to his knees and began to build a fire.  
  
Ovelia was confused, but she sat slowly and watched him as he worked swiftly and silently. As his slender, muscular arms moved beneath his plain-weave shirt she took in the smaller details: his skin was coarse like a farm-worker's and he was covered in scars from his neck down. They didn't look as if they were from sword-fighting, they were too patchy and dark. Burn marks, maybe? He had very long, deft fingers and everything about him was serious and sharply-cut. He finally produced a flame and sat, with one knee drawn up and his left arm swung over it casually. His dark, amber eyes glistened in the fire looking almost red and the flames caught all the angles in his severe face.  
  
Ovelia caught herself before she could think him handsome. She heard about that happening before, princesses falling for their captors but she couldn't afford having those sorts of feelings about this boy, as different as he was from anyone she had ever met. The only dark haired people she had ever known had been Olan Durai and Teta Hyral from the monastery. Teta mostly stayed close to Alma Beoulve and no one liked her much because they all knew she was a commoner. She was a sweet girl nontheless, soft-spoken and smart. Something had happened to her over their spring break, though, and she never returned. Alma never wanted to talk about it and the other girls didn't care enough to ask.  
  
"We'll have to wait until we reach the trade city tommorow afternoon before we can get any food. Can you hold out that long?"  
  
Ovelia blinked. They'd been travelling so long in silence that she hadn't expected him to speak to her, "That's nearly two days." she said, "I've never been so long without food. It doesn't seem natural."  
  
"Would her highness like me to go spear a wild goblin? Or perhaps she prefers Chocobo meat?"  
  
Ovelia couldn't tell if the boy was being sarcastic, or if he actually meant what he said. She could bear the thought of eating wild-caught food less than the thought of not eating, so she didn't answer. After a moment, she said, "You don't have to mock me. I'm sorry I've lead a sheltered life, I'm just not used to these conditions. I've never slept outside before."  
  
"How do you know my upbringing was rough?" The dark haired boy challenged, "How do you know I'm a commoner... after all, I was trusted with this assignment."  
  
Ovelia raised her auburn eyes, fluttering her eyelashes slighly, "Oh, I'm sorry. It's just... I was taught that old Murondic people were either all with the church or... well..."  
  
Her captor looked away then. The firelight illuminated his profile and she noticed that he had a sharp nose and long eyelashes, "What's your name?" she asked on a whim.  
  
He still refused to look at her and hesitated in answering, "... Delita." he gave no surname.  
  
" 'One who must be approached delicately'." The name sounded strangely familiar to her ears, "That name suits you."  
  
"You don't know anything about me."  
  
"That's true..." Ovelia said softly, watching the stars through the canopy of trees above them, "But I'd like to. Like... are you friend, or foe?"  
  
He finally looked at her. His gaze was so intense that it unsettled Ovelia, yet she found it oddly exciting to have those eyes on her with such focus, "I'm human, Princess, just like you."  
  
Ovelia swallowed his cryptic answer but couldn't shake her gaze from his. He broke it off, laying back in the pine needles and moss and sighing loudly, "You should get some sleep, Princess. We've got a long journey ahead of us tommorow, and since I let the chocobo go we're doing it all on foot."  
  
Ovelia laid back too, hugging herself within the folds of Delita's cloak, "Where are we going?"  
  
"Go to sleep, Princess."  
  
She decided not to pursue the subject any further. Instead she closed her eyes and thought about happier times, back in the monastery. She thought about Teta Hyral and how she would sing sometimes, when she thought no one was listening. Teta had an older brother, Ovelia wondered what happened to him, if he knew what happened to his sister. Somehow, her thoughts wandered further and her last thought in that weary, blurry half-asleep state was that the faint odor of hay and hickorey lingering on the cloak must the scent of it's owner.  
  
  
*  
  
  
When Ovelia awoke the next morning that fire had already been put out and Delita was sitting a few feet away, carving out a piece of driftwood into the shape of a pipe. She yawned and sat up, content to examine him while he whittled with his belt-knife.  
  
"What are you making?" she finally asked.  
  
"A reed pipe."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Delita stopped carving but his gaze never left the half-made pipe, "I thought of something last night. An old friend. I used to play the pipe." he tucked his knife back into his belt and stood, handing Ovelia the fluted wood, "Here. The cloak you're wearing is the only pockets we have between us. I don't want to lose it." he then helped the Princess to her feet and they began to walk.  
  
Ovelia spent the entire morning fingering the pipe at the bottom of her pocket. It wasn't done, but the middle was already hollowed. It could probably produce sound, but hadn't been shaped properally yet to make melodies. Ahead of her Delita moved ceaselessly, his shoulders rising and falling as he walked, pushing the overhanging tree branches out of the path only he could see. As she watched his tall figure sway through the trees she wondered what he had suffered in his life to make him such a solemn person. His face looked as if it hadn't smiled for years and his eyes were so lonely.  
  
Suddenly, he spun and drew his sword. Ovelia jumped back, only to find her shoulders gripped by strong, gloved hands. She yelped and tried to run, but was held back stiffly by the Knight behind her.  
  
"Dammnit!" Delita shouted, "I knew we should have taken the path through the foot hills!"  
  
"What's going on?" Ovelia twisted in the Knight's grasp a dozen or so more men stepped out from the undergrowth.  
  
"Put down the sword stable boy. Let me remind you the only reason we don't slit your throat is because we need you as a 'witness'."  
  
Delita' eyes were weary, but he sheathed his sword. He kept his gaze high, so it wasn't so much a surrender as a concession. He too was taken hold of by a burly Knight and forced back to walk side by side with Ovelia.  
  
"Don't worry, Princess," he murmered, swaying closer as they walked, "This is only temporary. I'll get you out of this."  
  
Ovelia nodded, not sure why she trusted his words but feeling duly reassured. Then she looked at the Knights, closely and caught something that nearly made her gasp.  
  
They were wearing the White Lion of Prince Larg on their uniforms... they were Hokuten. Her uncle's men!  
  
  
*  
  
  
"If they took the path through the foothills we'll never catch them." Gafgharion grumbled childishly, "This is just a stupid idea. The Hokuten will take care of it. We'll end up at Bethla before them, and then what? We fight the entire Nanten army on their own? I wouldn't normally challenge your judgement, Lady Oakes, but..."  
  
"What are you talking about, Gafgharion?" Agrias retorted, "You always challenge my judgement."  
  
"Yes, but usually I just do that because you're quite fetching when you're murderous. But this time, I actually think that you're very, very wrong."  
  
Agrias chose to ignore both statements and looked forwards steadily at the unchanging landscape. After a few moments, she stopped and put her hand up to silence any questions before they were formed, "Do you hear that?" she asked, "It sounds like... Princess Ovelia!" she turned her head slightly and gestured to the men before running towards the source of the voices. Gafgharion and Ramza kept her pace easily, but Rad tripped noisily and clumsily over himself until they reached the rocky foot of an outcrop.   
  
They were at the bottom of the foothills and above them they could see a small waterfall and a bridge cluttered by Hokuten soldiers. In the center of the hubbled mass were s bound Princess Ovelia and her mysterious dark-haired kidnapper. As they quietly made their way up towards the bridge the argument met their ears.  
  
"If you'd just cooperate we'll spare your life. It's not in our orders to execute you."  
  
"That's a lie and you know it. Your orders were to kill her! Then after that, you'll kill me for knowing the truth!"  
  
"Ridiculous! We came to help the Princess! Why would we want to kill her? You honestly don't think we'd let Goltana keep her as a bargaining chip?"  
  
"Princess Ovelia!" Agrias's cry stopped the conversation and the Hokuten Knights turned their heads in surprise. The ring leader sighed heavily and massaged his temples.  
  
"Great. This is all we need... Gafgharion, kill them all and do it now!"  
  
Gafgharion drew his sword and Agrias gaped at him looking decidely betrayed. He shrugged simply, "Don't know what's going on but it's in the contract."  
  
"What do you mean 'it's in the contract'!?"  
  
"Exactly what I said, sweetcheeks. No offense, but it's part of the job."  
  
"You mean... you're betraying us?"  
  
Gafgharion swung his sword over his shoulder casually and rubbed the back of his neck, "Betraying you? Never Lady Oakes, never. This is business Our job description was the kidnap the Princess, ahem, unharmed... then to kill you and keep it quiet."  
  
Agrais narrowed her eyes, "What are you getting at? The kidnapping's a sham?"  
  
Gafgharion rolled his eyes, "Of course! The Princess is in the way! The Prince should be the next in line, if she's left alive there'll just be more problems. Don't you see, Agrias, we're doing this for the stability of the country."  
  
Agrais snorted and met his eyes with fire, "You don't really believe that. You'd do anything for money, you're not even sure of this. The Princess may be adopted, but she's still loyalty."  
  
Gafgharion met her glare and leaned forwards so that he was nearly on her level, "Ah, Lady Oakes, so world weary yet so niave... even Princesses can die for getting in the way! That's what royal blood is all about!"  
  
Agrais drew back in disgust, "Are you mocking the royal family!?"  
  
"Get in the way and get killed. It's the same for commoners. The only difference is people you," he pointed his sword hilt in Agrias's direction, "Pledging blind loyalty. Unless you make it to the top you, you're onyl going to be used so you're better off dead anyways!"  
  
Agrias turned her head away, fists clenched tightly at her side.  
  
Ramza spoke up. He turned to the youngest mercenary, Rad, who had pulled his tattered cap down over his forehead, "Rad... did you know about this?"  
  
The boy blinked then nodded hesistantly. Ramza turned on Gafgharion, "Why? Why such a dirty trick!?"  
  
Gafgharion chuckled harshly, "Dirty!? There's no 'dirty' when it comes to business. We're mercenaries, we do what we're hired to do and follow through no matter what. It's called 'being a proffesional'."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"If I told you, Ramza," Gafgharion said, voice taking on a condescending tone, "Wouldn't you have tried to stop me? You asked me to help you out, so I did my part, but don't you understand that if I don't do this, someone else will? People die all the time without you even knowing about it... that's reality, boy! You really think you can stop something you know nothing about?"  
  
Ramza bit his lip, "But... but does that really make it right?"  
  
Gafgharion swung his sword off from over his shoulder in a gesture of fustration, "No buts!" he shouted, "You're nothing but a child who doesn't want to face reality! If you don't like it why don't you try living without depending on someone else for a change, otherwise you're going to continue getting caught up in these situations that have nothing to do with you!"  
  
During the exchange, the dark-haired Knight had apparently slipped free of his bonds. As Ramza hung his head, the Princess's kidnapper broke free from the grip of the Knight who held him and rna his sword through the Knight's ringleader. He grabbed the Princess and shoved her off the bridge. She yelped half in shock, half in fear but it wasn't a far way down to the ground.  
  
"Well, this is lovely and all." the Knight commented testily, "But since we're probably all going to die anyways, we should at least fight together." The remaining Hokuten backed away a bit from the young Knight as he spoke, lost without their leader, "If the Princess is kidnapped by Goltana, they'll be rid of her and his rivals. I'm sure that's how Larg wrote the scenario." he laughed shortly, "Actually, no, Dycedarg Beoulve probably wrote it, don't you agree Ramza?"  
  
Ramza raised his eyes and stared at the Knight for a long moment. Gafgharion reached out and took his shoulder, "Come now Ramza, Rad." he said roughly, "Let's take them."  
  
Rad pushed his cap up from his eyes and nodded nervously, "Yes sir!", but Ramza shook his head slowly.  
  
"Another helpless sacrifice..." he muttered.  
  
"What's you problem?" Gafgharion tightened his fingers around Ramza's shoulder and lowered his voice, "You're in my debt, Ramza, remember that. I could very easily make your life a lot harder than it already is."  
  
Ramza pulled away and drew his sword in one swirft movement. Agrais had been right, his new blade was a lot easier to handle than his old one had been, "I refuse to take part in any more bloodshed, especially sensless bloodshed like this!" the young boy's voice was tinted with true viciousness, his vision red around the edges. He could feel the rage bubbling up inside of him, all frothy and iron hot. His grip on his sword quivered, but he stood firm.  
  
On the other side of the bridge, an older Hokuten nodded and snapped his fingers, "Pull out!" he commanded, waving his arm above his head, "Gafgharion, I'll trust you to clean up!"  
  
Gafgharion's attention was pulled away from Ramza as the Hokuten retreated, leaving behind their dead commander. His face fell and he lowered his sword, "Wait!" he hollered after the soldiers as they left, "Wait! These weren't your orders!"  
  
Agrais gently pushed Ramza out of the way and grabbed Gafgharion roughly by the arm, twisting it so that his sword was disarmed. He grunted as she began to bind his arms, "Not so rough, Lady Oakes." he joked halfheartedly, "I'm delicate, you know."  
  
"You're a bastard." she hissed, tugging on the rope as she bent his arms behind his back, "You're a dog of war, nothing more. You make me sick."  
  
"I'm not going to try to kill you, Captain. The Hokuten abandoned me. The deal's off, I doubt I'm even going to get payed for this. It's a shame, you know, because I was quite enjoying our time together."  
  
"Shut up Gafgharion."  
  
"No, really. I mean it..." He twisted his head back so that he caught glance of Agrais from the corner of his vision, "You know..." he began suggestively, "I'm a free agent now..."  
  
She pushed him away from her and moved onto Rad who bent his head submissively. Agrais was less violent with him, but when he turned to look at her afterwards her gaze was unforgiving.  
  
Ovelia's Knight had already made his way down the hill to tend to the fallen Princess. She was a bit ruffled with scratches and bruises here and there, but she was alive at least. Ramza followed after them, running down the hill without even waiting for Agrias's word. When he at last tumbled to the bottom, nearly falling over himself, he stopped and stared.  
  
The dark haired Knight rose up to stare back and crossed his arms lazily, a slight grin tugging at his lips. Ramza inhaled sharply and stepped forwards, restraining himself from reaching out a touching the boy, just to make sure he was really there. "Delita." he said finally, "Delita... you're alive."  
  
Finally, Delita's grin broke. It wasn't a glad grin though, it was tinged bittersweet and lined with loss, "Imagine meeting you here! 'Ramza the mercenary'." he laughed like it was a joke. Which didn't hurt too much, because when Ramza thought about it, it was. He tried to smile but only felt his eyes dew at the corners, "Tell me, are your brothers still running your life?"  
  
Delita spoke as if nothing unusual had happened. He spoke as if they had just seen each other the day before at school and they could joke and laugh and pretend it was old times. Ramza wanted to scream. He wanted to bury Delita in frantic questions: 'How did you survive? What happened after Zeakden? How did you integrate yourself into Goltana's army? What the hell are you doing here? Are you okay? Does your sister's death still hurt? Do you miss her? Did you miss me? Do you hate me?' but instead he swallowed his tears and shrugged, "I don't know. They never tell me anything." he gulped, "But, um, Delita, if you don't mind me asking... why are you party to their plot?"  
  
Delita widened his eyes, "What are you talking about? Don't be foolish Ramza! I'm here to rescue the Princess! To free her from those who are exploiting her."  
  
Princess Ovelia looked at him when he said this. Her eyes were misty and her gaze a bit uncertain. Ramza couldn't discearn whether she admired him or was simply trying to figue out whether he was telling the truth or not. Ramza himself was unsure, as much as he hated to admit it. Delita had a way of twisting the truth so that it worked the way he wanted it to.  
  
Gafgharion chuckled, having been standing there for some time under Agrias's watchful eye, "This kid's almost as good a liar as I am! Now, tell us the truth... who hired you?"  
  
Delita's dark gaze, unnerving as always, set itself on Gafgharion, "I'm not like you." he said softly, "I'm not doing this for money."  
  
"Then who are you, hmm?" Gafgharion shifted beneath his bonds and gave Delita an incredelous look, "Some kid who heard the plan and decided to save her for JUSTICE? You've got to be kidding me... now talk. Who hired you?"  
  
Agrais gripped the mercenary's arm and jerked him violently so that he nearly fell down, "His plans are none of your business. You seem to be forgetting that you're a prisoner."  
  
"And you seem to be forgetting that this boy kidnapped the Princess!" Gafgharion straightened himself again and towered over Agrias angrily, "I'm just being catious. I don't even know why I try to protect you."  
  
Agrais stared up at him defiantly before spinning him around and cutting his bonds with her belt knife. She did the same with Rad, "Get the hell out of here, Gaff." she spat, "I never want to see you again."  
  
Rad's face lit up, but Gafgharion only glowered, rubbing the bare spots on his wrists between his gloves and armor where the bonds had been. When he realized that the Captain was serious, he bowed deeply, "Well, whatever the Lady commandes I am compelled to obey. But don't place too much faith on never seeing me again. Our paths have a bad habit of crossing." he raised his head and nodded at Ramza, "See you round' Ramza. Take care of yourself." he then bowed again, mockery complete, "By your leave, m'lady?"  
  
Agrais turned her nose up at him and he left, Rad in tow. The boy turned one more time and waved to Ramza before running off after his commander. Ramza felt mild remorse, after all Gafgharion had kept his identity a secret up until the end and taken care of him for nearly five months, 'Does this make me ungrateful? Should I have sided with Gafgharion and fought Delita and Agrias? Assasinated the Princess?' all his doubts we stowed as Ovelia ambled her way towards Agrais with a slight limp from her fall. She looked up thankfully at Ramza as she passed, soft eyes veiled by her thick eyelashes. She hadn't done anything wrong and hardly deserved to die. Ramza had done the right thing.  
  
"Leave the Princess with me. It's better for her."  
  
Agrias and Ramza both stared at him in shock. Ramza shook his head, "What are you scheming Delita..."  
  
Delita seemed almost hurt, "Ramza, I really am telling the truth. What has amde you so suspicious." Ramza glanced down guiltly and Delita continued, addressing Agrais, "Think about it, Captain Oakes. Where would you take her after making an enermy of the Hokuten? Once they realize you lived Crack Hokuten troops will be out lloking for you. Just where do you plan on escaping to?"  
  
Agrais was speechless. Ovelia looked at her gaurdian curiously, then back at Delita, "Think carefull, Captain." the dark-haired boy continued, "You know Prince Larg was in on this. The royal family is not on your side."  
  
"And Goltana would just execute us to clear his own name." Agrias muttered bitterly, seeing the hopelessness of the situation.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
She looked at Delita with an expresssion lost somewhere between respect and loathing, "Well... what would you do?" she asked.  
  
Delita looked at the broken bridge above them, "I do what you can't do, Captain Oakes."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
He leveled his gaze and for a moment and emotion flickered briefly in his eyes, "I... I can't tell you that..." he shrugged and uncrossed his arms, "Well... I suppose I'll leave the Princess with you a bit longer then... I have some matters to attend to." he turned to leave, but Ramza called after him.  
  
"Delita! Wait!" Delita stopped, but didn't face him, "I'm... I'm glad I could see you again..."  
  
"You cut your hair." Delita replied and Ramza fingered his ponytail. It just brushed his shoulders now. When he was young he had let it grow out nearly to his waist, "Dycedarg had been trying to get you to do that for years. I guess you decided on your own."  
  
Ramza let his fingers fall from the short cropped hair. The truth was that most of his hair had been damaged at Fort Zeakden and had to be chopped off. He didn't allow it to grow out again in memory of Teta and Delita.  
  
Ovelia rushed forwards, the bundled folds of her the bulky travelling cloak she wore fell, revealing her delicate, white gown. She set her feet and brushed a strand of dirty blonde hair out from her eyes, "Thank you, Sir Delita."  
  
"See you around, Ramza."  
  
The three watched him until his figure was nothing more than a shadow on the horizen. Then Agrias finally sheathed her sword completely and breathed as if the world had just been lifted off of her shoulders.  
  
"Thank you for your support, Ramza, but are you sure you want to make an enemy of the Hokuten?"  
  
"Don't worry, I've already decided," he said quietly, "It won't be as bad for me anyways. I'm just an insignificant mercenary. You were a Hokuten Captain. I'd hate to think of the warrant out on your head." he lied through his teeth. He decided that he most definitely was not as good at it as Delita, "The only question left is what should we do now? Like Delita said, no one will help us..."  
  
"I've already throught that through." Agrais cut him off, "We could go to Cardinal Draclau. Glabaos Chruch had jurisdiction over Lionel. They might just be able to help. The Hokuten will have to be careful where they step that far over the border. It's the only place for us..."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
III.  
  
'The bearer of Tauras must be pure of mind  
Wisdom, responsibility and integreity were his virtues  
And also he posessed an Earth-strong  
Stubborn nature'  
-The Ledgend of the Zodiac Braves  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Autumn set in and so the mines were opened again. They were dusty and dark and sometimes Mustadio forgot what he looked like. He gazed into the polished mirror determined to memorize his face this time. It was his seventeenth birthday and with October just around the corner his next six month mining term was about to begin.  
  
'I'm quite good looking.' he reflected, pulling his yellow hair back into a tight pony-tail, 'And all these years of hard work and malnutrition have given me a slim but muscular figure. If only I didn't have to spend all my ruddy time underground, I'm sure I'd have girls at my beck and call.'  
  
"Are you wasting your day away at that damn mirror again?" Besrodio's light-hearted voice drifted into Mustadio's room as the man poked his head through the door, "You've grown rather vain since they sent you back up to the surface this summer. What's going on?"  
  
Mustadio groaned and pushed himself away from the mirror, placing his hands on his hips and giving his father a cross stare, "Dad, I'm young you know. Just because you were content to whittle away your prime in that hellhole doesn't mean I have to grow up to be a lonely old eccentric."  
  
Besrodio laughed heartily and wrapped a thick arm around his son's small shoulders, leading him out into the hallway of their small house, "Do you really think that I wasn't a girl magnet in my day? I was a handsome and charming young fellow... but you are a different story, my son. You have far too much of your mother in your face and figure. Girls are looking for the manly type nowadays," he stopped laughing and his tone turned deadly serious, "But you never know, Mustadio, you might be able to pick some of the older, single men down at the mines this winter. December is a long, cold, lonely month."  
  
Mustadio pulled away from his father's arm and rolled his eyes, "Just more proof that the world hates me... out of my two parents only the cruel one survives. Mom was much nicer to me, you know." he stuck out his tounge as he slid into a rickety, wooden able chair. He folded his hands on table and said, "So, anyways, where's my birthday present?"  
  
Besrodio was in the process of drinking the remaining, week-old milk from the jar. He eyed Mustadio abruptly and a dribble of milk ran down his chin as he slammed the bottle on the counter nervously, "What birthday present!?" he demanded, wiping the milk from his gotee with his sleeve.  
  
Mustadio buried his face in his hands and calmed himself. It was a ritual, almost. His father did it every year and although it genuinely scared him when he was little it had begun to wear a bit thin. As per procedure he raised his head and replied with very little intonation, "What. Father you did not remember? Today was the day I turned seventeen. Oh, how horrible this is, that a father should forget his own son's birthday. How absolutely tragic. I am amiss."  
  
Besrodio sat oppsite Mustadio, milk jug still in his hands, and shook his head, "I'm serious this year. I really didn't get you a gift. I mean, last year I fixed up that old pistol for you as a sort of right of passage. You're a man now."  
  
"Then why do you insist that I'm actually a woman? Really, father, you're hardly consistent."  
  
"I say that you're a woman because right now you're pouting like a little girl. Where did I go wrong? Did I spoil you as a child?"  
  
Mustadio glanced at his ratty clothes quickly, then laughed, "Well, it's hard to spoil a kid when you're this poor."  
  
Besrodio also laughed, "Yes, but we're happy and isn't that all that matters?"  
  
Mustadio's expression grew slighlty miffed and he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head, "Well, you could have at least warned me so that I didn't get my hopes up. If I'm so adult now, why don't you just let me move out on my own."  
  
"Because until you turn eighteen and your contract with the mine is up you don't legally make enough money to buy water."  
  
"That's the problem with Goug." Mustadio sighed, "Those damn mines... all the children forced to work in them until they reach eighteen, and by then everyone's too worn and tired to leave."  
  
Besrodio's face grew stern, "You want to leave Goug?"  
  
Mustadio let his head fall to the side and he watched the steady mass of people float by in the crowded streets through their soot-stained windows. Most of them had dark hair and dirty complexions, more than anywhere in Ivalice. Most of Lionel laid on the border of what was once Murond. Some of the land, including Goug and the surrounding Barius high and lowlands, were considered Murondic in the older atlases. Mustadio had known more pureblood Murond families than Lionelian and could even speak of bit of the 'old tounge', yet he never felt out of place, "No... I could never leave Goug. The soot and steam is in my blood and if I hate the laws, I love the city."  
  
Besrodio observed the silence. It happened between them every so often as much as they tried to avoid these sacred moments. It reminded them too much of the Mother and Wife they had lost. It was important to always keep the cheerful banter up and never to cry in front of each other and they strayed away from any serious topic like the plauge.  
  
Besrodio coughed loudly, forcing his face into a wide, fake grin, "Well... I may have forgotten your birthday gift, but there is something I've been meaning to show you for a while now. Come, let's go to my workshop, I'm sure you'll love it!"  
  
  
*  
  
  
Besrodio's 'workshop' was nothing more than four slanted walls and a thin roof that had been tacked on to the main house when Mustadio had started working in the mines. Besrodio got bored when his son was out for most of the year, so took up tinkering with machines as a pastime of sorts. The roof always had to be fixed up when it rained and there were no windows, but there was plenty of space and a desk built into the left wall.  
  
"I found this in the mine a few weeks back just before your term was up." he lifted the stone delicately and placed it in his son's warm palms, "It's a curious thing. Makes the machines go all wild. I had to pocket it and leave quickly before the warden's caught me."  
  
Mustadio held the stone up to the slanted light that fell through a large hole in the roof. It was orangey and reflected the light funny- as if it stole a bit of them beam's glow before sending it off on it's way, "You mean you stole it?"  
  
"It's just a stone." Besrodio replied defensively, "I doubt anyone's going to miss it."  
  
"Hmph. A blind man could tell that this is no ordinary stone. If anyone finds out you have this we're going to be in some mad trouble." Mustadio turned the stone catching it from a different angle. There seemd to be some sort of symblo carved into the center of it. He squinted to read it.  
  
"I wanted to conduct some experiments with it before telling anyone." Besrodio paused, "Oh, and if you're wondering the engraving is the symbol for 'Tauraus'. It's a Zodiac symbol."  
  
Mustadio's eyes popped out and his jaw dropped. He stared past the stone at his father agast, "What did you just say?"  
  
" 'The color of warm earth, stern and steady the bearer of the Zodiac Stone Tauraus must be...' " Besrodio quoted the old story. Everyone knew it, of course, but it had never occured to Mustadio that it might be true. Only religious fantics believed all that rot about the twelve Holy Warriors who banded together using the strength of the Zodiac to defeat the evil King of Murond, then were ressurected to form St. Ajora's disciples, and there were no religious people in Goug. But still, hearing his father quote the story as he stared at the strange stone in his hand, Mustadio began to doubt.  
  
"There's got to be another explanation, Dad." he said breathlessly, cupping the stone in one hand, "Let's no jump to such fantastical conclusions."  
  
Besrodio pouted jokingly, "Oh, come now Mustadio, it's so much fun!"  
  
"Dad, be serious here a moment! You said you wanted to conduct experiment before saying anything. What did you mean by that?"  
  
Besrodio paced as he spoke. He always grew excited when speaking about anything even remotely scientific. Mustadio often though his father should've taken up Chemistry, "Well, it's just an idea, but I would have to do it systematically to properally record the effect of the stone in different conditions..."  
  
"No, no, no!" Mustadio interrupted before his father could get lost in his mutterings, "That's not what I meant! I meant... where and when? How do you intend to do these experiments?"  
  
Besrodio blinked, "Well... in the mine of course."  
  
Mustadio shook his head, "Dad, you're not supposed to be down there at all except in off season of weekends. How the hell are you going to find the time."  
  
"I'll manage."  
  
"No, let me do it!" Besrodio was stunned silent and Mustadio continued speaking excitedly, "I'll be down there every day and every night until March! I'll have unrestricted access to the machines since I'm nearly done my contract so I'll be in the perfect position. Anyways, the warden's have already given you warnings but my record's perfect!"  
  
"Mustadio! It's two dangerous!"  
  
Mustadio giggled, "No it isn't, that's the point. I promise I won't screw anything up, just slip me your notes before I head down next week and I'll be back in March with all the information you could ever want on this doohickey!"  
  
Besrodio opened his mouth like he wanted to object, but gave up, "There's no arguing with you when you've made your mind up... fastidious and charming... whatever your mother was thinking when she said she wanted a child born on the cusp of Virgo and Libra I'll never understand."  
  
"Don't worry, Father, you've put your research into good hands." but as Mustadio pocketed the steon his thoughts were on anything but scientific progress. His curiosity had been piqued and he figured that if he had some sort of guide, he might possibly be able to find other 'Zodiac Stones' and prove beyond doubt whether the silly ledgend was true or not.  
  
  
*  
  
  
December was definitely the worst month to be caught working. The cold seeped down into the stone and settled with a chill that lasted until spring. The warden's never provided the workers with cloaks so everyone pushed extra hard just so they would sweat so hard that the cold would be welcome when they shivered beneath their thin, canvas sheets. If the young workers had been Gariland students they would have been preparing to go home for Winter Holidays, but for the Goug children all they had too look forwards to was another three and a half months until their six week leave.  
  
Mustadio drank the sooty water from his canteen and rubbed the Zodiac stone thoughtfully as a few other workers discussed current events. He wanted badly for a mirror and wondered what a mess he would look, with his skin all smudged and his hair stained black from the steam. "Dad's right,' he chuckled inwardly, 'I have become vain.'  
  
"I heard that the King's died." a younger worker whispered suddenly into the conversation, "No sign of war yet, but the conflict between Larg and Goltana grows more vicious every day..."  
  
"Ha." an older girl laughed without passion, "That news is probably out of date. I'm not surprised if the war's already been fought and won by now."  
  
"Who are you bets on, Mauri?" a boy about Mustadio's age wondered.  
  
"Goltana, of course." the girl sniffed, "He's blood related to the King after all."  
  
"Nah!" The boy snickered, "Larg's got the support of the Beoulves and he's the Queen's brother... besides, there's also those rumours..."  
  
"What rumours?"  
  
"Well, I heard that..."  
  
"Excuse me." the gathering of children looked up to see a troup of richly dressed men come forwards in the darkness. They were mostly blonde, except for their leader, an overweight man who's hair was the color of dust in the darkness. They all wore expression that clearly said these children were scum of the earth in their opinion, "We're looking for a young man named Mustadio Bununza. Do any of you know him?"  
  
For once, Mustadio was thankful for the annonymity of the mines. He was quite sure none of these other kids knew his name and with all the soot and dim lighting he looked just as dark haired as the others. But then the girl spoke up, "Oh, you mean Mustard boy back there?" she jerked her thumb at Mustadio and he remembered her- Mauri Ronf from his thursday detail, "You don't want anything to do with him. He's just plain trouble."  
  
"Yes." the hefty man drawled, speaking as though his voice came through his nose rather than his mouth, "I know...."  
  
All at once Mustadio realize what this was all about. The stone. He paled, hoping that the other's wouldn't see the beads of sweat forming on his forehead through the dust, "Oh shit."  
  
  
*  
  
  
Princess Ovelia didn't eat like a lady. Oh, Ramza was quite sure that she probably did at the best of times, but here in the Goland Inn after two days without food and protected by her secret identity she ate like an animal half starved to death.  
  
Agrais gave Ramza a meaningful look across that table that the boy didn't quite understand, but ti probably had something to do with the fact that Ovelia hadn't once even made a motion to removed the dirty cloak still slung over her shoulders. It was definitely Delita's, as it exactly matched the one Ramza himself was wearing. The cloaks they had bought on route to Zeakden a year earlier. The Princess did indeed seem taken with her kidnapper which worried Agrias to no end.  
  
"She would have followed him off a cliff had he asked her to." the Knight shook her head, "I just don't understand what Princesses see in the dark, tortured and abusive type. They're merciless charmers, I suppose..."  
  
Ramza had wanted to tell her that Delita wasn't like that, but he bit his lip because if he were to be honest with himself, he just didn't know anymore.  
  
'What can a year do to a person?' he wondered as Ovelia shoveled down her third helping of carrot-mash stew, 'Can it twist someone so out of shape that even their best friend would never recognize them if they spoke? Can it take despair and turn it into maliciousness, warp kind natures into manipulative ones? What has a year done to me... didn't I used to have hope.' he sunk into his chair, burying his face in the wolly arms of his cloak, 'Maybe I should have gone back to Zeakden after Zalbag found me. Maybe if I looked hard enough I would have found Delita and we could have given Teta and Algus proper funerals and made Dycedarg apologize and then everything would have been happy and perfect again.' he closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of damp wool and spring, 'God... even I don't believe that anymore... Gafgharion's right. I'm just a stupid child who doesn't know how to take care of himself. Even now I'm pretending to help Agrias save the Princess, but really, I'm just looking for her to take care of me like Gafgharion did... like Delita and my brothers used to.'  
  
"I... I think I'll go to bed now." Ovelia said softly, half rising from her seat. Both Ramza and Agrias looked up, having finished their meals long before.  
  
"Princess, the sun has not even gone down yet. We still have some shopping left to do."  
  
Ovelia nodded, "Yes, I know. You and Mr. Ruglia can go on without me. I haven't slept in a proper bed for a few nights and I am quite exhausted."  
  
"Please, call me by my name." Ramza insisted. He hated hearing his fake named used in general speech. It sounded like a lie, stinging everytime it fell from someone's lips.  
  
The Princess smiled sweetly, "Okay... Ramza..." Agrias furrowed her brow, but Ovelia was adament, "Please Agrias, I'll be fine. I doubt there are any Hokuten in Goland. Besides, you don;t want to leave it all up to the man here. Males can't ever be trusted with anything."  
  
It was meant to be a harmless tease, but Ramza turned bright red. He had never been refered to as a man before and it surprised him, afterall, he was barely seventeen years old. Ovelia said her goodnights and he and Agrias headed out with an extensive list of Potions and salted foods to last the long journey to Lionel.  
  
"Why did you turn against Gafgharion?" Agrias asked after some time. She didn't look up from her list, just asked as if it were an offhanded sort of thing. Ramza froze up, unable to answer. Was she questioning his loyalty?  
  
"Um... well... it's just that what he was doing was so... wrong."  
  
Agrias nodded gravely, "You're a good person, Ramza. Now that I know that, I trust you more than anyone."  
  
Ramza was shocked, "Why is that, Captain?"  
  
"Because as long as I'm doing the right thing, you won't betray me. If I do something to lose your loyalty it means that I've strayed from the path of light and I deserve punishment." she glance dup from her list, ice-blue eyes strangely warm, "I'm trying to say that you have a conscience, Ramza, unlike most people who have seen a battle first hand."  
  
"That's funny, Captain, because I always just assumed that you knew what you were doing."  
  
Agrais shrugged, "Well, we all make mistakes now and then. If you're like me and have a sense for war, sometimes the lines between right and wrong blur. That's why we need more people like you in the world. You're not a warrior, Ramza, but at least you understand justice."  
  
Delita's words came back to him, 'There are things more important in life than warfare, Ramza'. Was this what his father had meant when he told him to be a just man?  
  
"Thank you, Captain Oakes, I..."  
  
"Don't call me that anymore. I am no longer Hokuten, Ramza. I have no rank. I am simply Agrias now."  
  
Ramza nodded but silenlty balked at the idea of calling her by her given name. She may only have been twenty-four years old, but Gafgharion was right about one thing- she carried herself like a seasoned general who should be treated with the upmost respect. Despite the fact she no longer belonged to any army, she still held rank in Ramza's eyes.  
  
Suddenly, a young man came tearing down the street, pushing passer by's to the side as he ran frantically. He dissapeared around the corner and was soon followed by a small group of theives. Agrias folded her list and tucked it into her belt, nodding to Ramza in a suggestion that they follow. Despite her being a fugitive, she was still unable to let trouble be and go on her way.  
  
They followed the theives until they entered an alleyway. The boy was pressed up against the wall at the back, swearing and fiddling with a small, metal cylindar in his hands. The thief leader grabbed him by the scruff of his tattered clothing and sneered in his face.  
  
"Hmph. Looks like we've finally caught up to you. Now hand it over!"  
  
"Hand over what?" the boy's voice was eerily collected for the siuation he was in, "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
The theif threw him down and kicked him in the side, "Don't lie to me, you little miner boy. We know who you are Mustadio!"  
  
The boy pulled himself to his feet streniously and grinned, "I don't even have it on me, idiot. I'll never tell you where it is, and if you kill me, you'll never find it so you might as well just tell that bastard Rudvich to give up and go screw himself!"  
  
The theif leader hissed and the rest began to close in. It was at this moment that Agrias chose to step in, Ramza dutifully behind her.  
  
"What's going on here." she asked casually. The theives turned and looked upon her with fear. They recognized the trim blue and white armor she donned, the unmistakable crest of the white lion.  
  
"Hokuten..." one of them gasped, "It's not worth it! We'll get him later, scramble!" The gang took no time in clearing out, jumping the fences and rooftops. The mysterious boy sighed in relief and let his legs give out, collapsing against the cold brick of the alley's wall.   
  
As they approached him, Ramza realized what horrible shape this boy was really in. His clothes were black with dirt, grime and what looked like soot and all frayed around the edges. In the places where his shirts and pants were ripped, bloody skin showed through the cracks and Ramza couldn't tell if his hair was dirty or actually the color baked pumpernickle bread.  
  
Agrias knelt at his side and removed one of her gloves, laying her bare hand over his forehead, "You're very warm." she said, "Your ill and injured. We're going to take you back to the Inn with us, okay?"  
  
The boy nodded weakly, eyes closed, "Yeah, and, um, thanks. They probably would have killed me... and stuff."  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Um, I'm Mustadio. Mustadio Bununza. I'm from Goug."  
  
"Goug?" Ramza wondered, "That's a long way from here!"  
  
The boy opened his eyes, the clear and sharp color of a sunny, summer sky, and looked at Ramza with a good-natured grin, "Yeah, tell me about it."  
  
  
*  
  
  
The next morning Mustadio joined them at breakfast. Ramza was shocked when he sat down and had hardly recognized him cleaned up. He was a short boy, probably no older then Ramza, with a thin build and skin that looked as if it hadn't seen much sunlight in it's life. His hair was a dull, yellow-blonde and he whistled as he walked towards Ramza and Agrias, a slight skip in his step.  
  
"Man, you would NOT believe how great I feel!" he exclaimed, yawning as he lifted the menu and scanned it over, "It's been months since I've had a proper bath. I mean, it was necessary and everything and of course people who travel like that don't bathe often anyways, but it was just getting to that point where it stops being courageous and becomes obscene. I couldn't even stand to be around myself, I smelt so bad. And on top of that..."  
  
At that point Ramza's brain stopped processing. He blinked a few times and watched Mustadio's mouth without actually understanding the words. In all his life Ramza had never met anyone who talked so much, and with such enthusiasim! He glanced over at Agrais who seemed to be having similar thoughts. She looked back and shrugged, so both let him talk.  
  
They learned that he was the son of a poor inventor. They lived in Goug, a small town in South-Western Lionel, and were mechanical geniuses of sorts. Mustadio's contract in the mines had nearly been up when he had to go on the run and he had been dodging around the country since December.  
  
"That's... five months!" Ramza gasped, doing the math in his head, "How did you survive for five months!"  
  
"If I knew that," Mustadio sighed, "I'd write a book about it. I just got by I suppose, kind of funny since I've never been out of Goug before and it was the dead of Winter when they came after me..."  
  
"Who is it?" Agrias cut the youth off before he could launch into another one of his tirads.  
  
"Who is it what?"  
  
"Who's after you?"  
  
"Oh, the Bart Company!" Mustadio answered like it was common knowledge.  
  
"The Importer?" Agrias wonder incredelously.  
  
Mustadio's tone darkened. He lowered his voice and tipped his menu downwards, "Oh, they do MUCH more than importing. Not many people know it, but they're a criminal syndicate into everything from smuggling to slavery." he snorted and raised his menu again, "What do you think the mines are all about?"  
  
"Why are they after you?" Agrias pressed.  
  
"You know why they call us mechanics?" Mustadio asked offhandedly.  
  
Agrias raised an eyebrow, obviously confused over what relevence this had to her inquiry, "Something about a lost civilization being hidden beneath Goug. When St. Ajora was alive there were airships in the sky and robots in the street. But the technology was lost due to social decline and now no one knows whether it really existed. Everyone had heard that."  
  
"It did exist." Mustadio stated it like a fact, his voice holding no intonation of the fantastical, "I've seen the proof yself- airship parts and old mmachines are buried under Goug. We work in the mines in order to restore these lost legacies."  
  
Ramza's eyes lit up, "That wierd thing," he began, "That wierd weapon you were trying to use on the theives. Is that one of the machines?"  
  
Mustadio let the menu fold itself back on the table this time, and pulled out the weapon. He laid it on the table and allowed Ramza to examin it, "It's called a 'gun'." he explained, running his fingers down the smooth metal of it's stubby hilt and along the tunnled nose, "It works by propelling a metal 'bullet' using explosive powder can be used from greater distances than a bow. This one's just primitive, I've heard ledgends of guns that even shoot magic."  
  
Ramza reached out a picked up the gun, shivering at how cold and polished the metal was. It was impressive and exotic, but he could feel the weapon's monstorous power, just barely repressed. He put it back on the table quickly, gaining new admiration for Mustadio. Ramza could never use such a weapon as the 'gun', it frightened him.  
  
"We've gotten off topic." Agrias said irritably, "You were going to tell us why the Bart Company is after you."  
  
"You said you were going to see the Cardinal, right!" Mustadio's bright eyes caught Agrias's gaze suddenly, "He's a war hero the people of Lionel. My father too, I know he'd grant your wish and then the Princess would be safe!"  
  
Agrias was impatient, "Yes, and?"  
  
"And, um, take me with you!" Mustadio grabbed Agrias's hand and fixed her with a pelading look, "I must meet with the Cardinal!"  
  
Agrias pulled her hand away, insulted, "Why would you need to see the Cardinal Draclau?"  
  
"To save my father, of course! The Bart Company kidnapped him to make me speak and the Cardinal's the only one who could possibly rescue him! But he would never meet with a dirty mechanic from Goug, so I'd need to come with you!"  
  
"You still haven't told us why the Bart Comapny is after you in the first place." Agrias's temper was slowly rising and Ramza could do nothing but remove himself from the conversation and watch quietly. He liked Mustadio despite the boy's exhausting nature, but could understand Agrias's reservations.  
  
"I... I can't tell you why they're after me."  
  
Agrias shook her hea, "Then we can't take you."  
  
Mustadio's eyes went all wide and glassy, "What!? You can trust me, I promise! I have to see the Cardinal!"  
  
And suddenly, Ovelia was there. She must have come downstairs sometime earlier in the conversation and simply listened, because when she sat down she said: "Mustadio can come with us, Agrias."  
  
Mustadio leapt up form his seat and grabbed Ovelia's hands this time, his eyes sparkling like two barely contained wildfires, "Really!? Thank you, Ovelia, thank you!"  
  
Agrias didn't quite balk, but she rebuked Mustadio sharply, "Remember, you're in the presence of a Princess."  
  
Mustadio coughed, released Ovelia's hands then dropped to his knees submissively, "Please forgive me my imprudence, highness."  
  
Ovelia giggled behind her slender hand, "Oh, it's quite alright Mustadio. Agrias would do well to remember that we're undercover. All this bowing is probably a tad conspicuous."  
  
Mustadio slowly rose and got back into his seat, grinning madly. Agrias grumbled a bit, then buried herself deep in her own menu, but Ramza could tell she was glad to have Mustadio with them. It would be refreshing to have a light heart on the journey. Ramza himself was just looking forwards to having a friend again.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
IV.  
  
'The divine will of the church is all  
For it is the will of St. Ajora.  
Love Ajora first, then the church  
Then your family, then your neighbour  
Then your enemy... and finally,  
You may love yourself...'  
- The Scriptures of Glabados  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They crossed the border of Lionel less than a week later without hassel. The land grew hilly and dry, rocks jutting out from the ground here and there, seeingly without pattern. Of course that couldn't be true, because as Ramza's father always used to say, nature always had pattern and purpose, just mere mortals were often too dim to recognize it. Those were the sorts of knowledgable gems Alma had picked up from her father much in the same way Zalbag inherited his battle prowress and Dycedarg his sharp, political mind.  
  
'But what did I get?' Ramza didn't mean to feel so sorry for himself, but there was something about the melanchony of the pink and orange sunset weaving itself among the clouds that caused his mood to plummet. He pressed his palms into the grass and tipped his face back to watch the red sun sinking into the hills. Ovelia sat not far from him, skirts around her in the pattern of a flower. Instead of staring at the sky, she studied the dull-green grass below her, carelessly picking at stray blades. Ramza wondered if it had something to do with personality and upbringing that one looks either at the sky or the ground. Teta always looked downwards, especially when spoke to. She hardly raised her head to the clouds unless someone told her to look up or it was snowing.  
  
"Lionel castle is just over this last hill. Your journey is nearly over, Princess." Agrais was leaning casually against a thick-trunked tree, sharpening her sword's edge with a large, granite stone. The grinding noise was sharp and soft, blending quietly with the breeze.  
  
Ovelia raised her eyes, but not her head, and allowed her gaze to veer only as far as the horizen, " I wonder if Cardinal Draclau would really help us?"  
  
"He's very loyal to the church, Princess." Agrias assured, "And right now he's neutral in the dispute between Larg and Goltana. I'm sure he wouldn't defeat justice by handing you over to either of them."  
  
"I hope so..."  
  
"Besides," Agrais ceased sharpening her sword and dropped the stone. It rolled a few feet downhill then stopped, grounded in a steep rut, "He's a respected figure within the church. I'm sure they'll take you back if he's asks them to."  
  
Ovelia nodded and lowered her eyes again, "I wish a weren't a princess." her voice was bitter and as close to harsh as such a gentle person could ever hope to manage.  
  
Agrias looked up from her sword, where she had been running her thumb along the newly sharpened edge and widened her blue eyes, "Ovelia!"  
  
"I was always surrounded by convent walls. I'd only ever seen the sky through their windows." her voice shook and she sounded faintly as if she were crying, "Even after hearing about the deceased King's adoption, I stayed there for a long time... I... I'm not complaining, just... People are dying because I'm Princess. It's all so painful..."  
  
Agrias bridged the gap between her and Ovelia and placed a single, strong hand on the Princesses shoulder. She spoke, usually cold voice warm and comforting, "Please, Ovelia, it's not your fault. It's those who are trying to take advantage of you that are to blame."  
  
Ovelia nodded and sniffled. She brought a delicate hand to her face and wiped her eyes slowly, "I met a girl at Orbonne. She said she'd also spent most of her life in a Monastery. She used to laugh at how similar our lives were. But she wasn't a Princess... isn't it funny?"  
  
"She was the Beoulve girl, Miss Alma, was she not?"  
  
Ramza started at that, and turned his head sharply to stare at the Knight and Princess. He'd never expected that Ovelia had known his sister, though now he realized that it was probably inavoidable since they attended the same classes.  
  
"She was my only friend. All the other girls just wanted to be with me because they'd heard the King adopted me." Ovelia laughed, a sad giggle lined with tears, "I wonder if we're really doing the right thing. Maybe the Cardinal will just end up using me like everyone else."  
  
Agrias didn't have an answer. She drew her hand away and crossed her arms, a darkness passing over her face.  
  
"Hey! Captain Agrias!" all three spun their gazes around to see Mustadio running over the rise towards them, waving his thin arms happily. He stopped between Ramza and Ovelia, bracing himself on his knees as he caught his breath, then jumping to attention and giving Agrias a joking salute, "No one's following us as far as I can see. No sign of either the Hokuten or Rudvich's men. With only a day and a half to the castle, I'd say we're off scott free!"  
  
Agrias nodded gravely, "Good work, Mustadio. I'll scout ahead then we'll get some sleep. Expect me back in an hour or so." she gave Ovelia one last look before leaving.  
  
Mustadio fell back into the grass, letting out a long breath as he sprawled out and closed his eyes, exhausted.  
  
"I don't think she likes me much. She keeps sending me out on these scouting missions like a slave!"  
  
Ramza stifled a laugh and Ovelia glance at Mustadio wryly, a thin smile working up her rosebud lips, "Oh Mustadio. Agrias likes you plenty. It's just her way. People have to prove themselves to her."  
  
Mustadio groaned and opened his eyes narrowly, "Well, there's not going to be much left of me to prove anything if things keep going the way they are. I appreciate ehat you're trying to say Princess, but I still think she's trying to kill me." after that, Mustadio closed his eyes again and fell asleep.  
  
Ramza was thinking about his sister when he noticed Ovelia digging in the deep pockets of Delita's travelling cloak. He watched her as she brought out a slender instrument and pressed it to her lips. She blew, but the only sound that came out was a strangled squeak. She drew it away from her mouth quickly and glanced at Ramza, blushing. "Sorry. I've never played one before."  
  
"That's okay. Here, can I see?" Ovelia handed him the pipe over Mustadio's slightly snoring body and he clasped it in his hand tightly, examining it before he brought it to his mouth and blew gently, his fingers moving clumsily as he had forgotten. He played a sort tune and when he finished, Ovelia was smiling brightly at him, the only thing of her tear remaining being the pink circles around her brown eyes.  
  
She clapped quietly, "That was excellent, Ramza."  
  
Ramza nodded humbly and handed her back the pipe, "Thank you. My father taught me how to play, but I never was as good as..." he stopped himself short, but Ovelia finished for him.  
  
"... Delita. His name was Delita, wasn't it?" Ovelia stared at the pipe absently, "So yuo were the old friend... how do you know him?"  
  
Ramza nearly said that Delita had been the stable boy at Beoulve manor, but remembered that no one knew who he was. Instead, he shrugged, "We were close as children. I don't really remember how we met. It was a long time ago."  
  
Ovelia nodded, "It's strange, your name sounded very familiar to me. I think Alma's brother..." Ramza tensed, "His name was something like yours... Ransa or Ranma... well, it was very close."  
  
Ramza sighed discreetly, "I wouldn't know. I don't know anything about the Beoulves."  
  
Ovelia nodded, "I understand I just... I just want to know if Alma is safe..."  
  
Ramza glowered, having been wanting to know the same thing for months. Last he had heard, she'd left the Monastery to go stay with Zalbag, wherever he was, "I'm sure she's fine." he whispered, more to convince himself then Ovelia, "She's got famous brothers, afterall. They'll take care of her." involuntarily, he shuddered like he always did when remembering the way Teta's lifeless body plummmeted from the bridge at Fort Zeakden.  
  
"Play another song." Ovelia passed the reed flute back to Ramza, "Something... uplifting."  
  
Ramza scoured his memory for what had been Alma's favorite. The mysteriously named suite 'Rydhia'. It was a more complicated tune, but one Ramza had played many times. His fingers warmed and found their places easily as memory flooded him over and suddenly, the sky didn't seem so melanchony anymore.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Gafgharion tapped his fingers impatiently across the polished wood table in the Beoulve manor. Such upper-class dwelling often made him testy as he didn't like the impeccableness of the wall hangings and the shimmer of the treated wood-surfaces. It all seemed very unnatural.  
  
Dycedarg's cold eyes fixed themselves on the mercenary begrudgingly, "I've read the reports. I'm dissapointed, Gafgharion. I was told you were the best."  
  
"Oh, I am the best." Gafgharion stopped his fingers moving and gripped the table, "But I was outnumbered. Usually, I could handle such a situation, but I was not aware your troops had been ordered to withdraw."  
  
"Well, 'proffesionals' should be prepared to deal with such setbacks."  
  
Gafgharion swung his legs up and rested his feet on the sickeningly clean table, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back. Dycedarg deepened his glare, but the mercenary ignored him, "So what do you want me to do about it now?"  
  
"Do anything you have to! Capture Ovelia and kill Agrias and the others!"  
  
Gafgharion peered over his muddy boots curiously, "What about Ramza?"  
  
Dycedarg pushed his chair away fro the table with a loud creak and paced towards the cabinet near the window. He uncorked a tall bottle of brandy and poured it into a fragile-lloking glass, throwing it back hard, "He's a disgrace to the Beoulve name. I only left him alone because I thought he'd learn how harsh the real world is. I never thought he was that dense."  
  
Gafgharion shrugged and leaned back again, "Did his strong sense of justice come from his father?" he wondered airily.  
  
The question had the desired effect. Dycedarg slammed his glass down on the cabinet surface angrily, "My father spoiled the brat!" he fumed, "If he obeys orders, fine. If he resists, you'll have no choice but to kill him."  
  
"It's hard to believe even you'd say that about your own brother. Sickening." Gafgharion snorted, but changed the subject, "So what about Cardinal? With the church supporting him, not even the Prince can do anything easily."  
  
Dycedarg calmed a bit, and poured himself another drink, "I've already prepared for that." he said in between sips, "There's no need to worry."  
  
"So that's it eh?" Dycedarg didn't answer, "You know, the more I hear, Dycedarg Beoulve, the less and less I like you."  
  
Dycedarg turned and smiled at the mercenary nastily, "If that's how you feel, you'd best hold your tounge. Don't forget how easily your head can be cut off."  
  
Gafgharion set his feet on the floor hastily and held up his hands in a diplomatic manner, "Hey, hey! Stop that! I'm your loyal servant." he winked, "And remember, I'm not stubborn like your brothers."  
  
"Then don't make any more mistakes."  
  
"Right." Gafgharion cleared his throat, "Speaking of which, who exactly was it you hired to kidnap the Princess?"  
  
Dycedarg froze, "What?"  
  
"When we were chasing her in Dorter there was this kid with her. I was just curious if he was really with Goltana or you hired him. Seemed to know you pretty well, but denied being a part of either faction."  
  
Dycedarg's eyes were wide with shock and confusion, perhaps a bit of paranoia, "What did he look like. Describe him to me!"  
  
Gfagharion shrugged, "I don't know... he was a tall and skinny kid. Had a mean look about him and was good in a fight for being so young. Looked almost Murondic and had these big, ugly burn scars everywheres. Weirdest thing is that your brother seemed to know him."  
  
Dycedarg paled white and dropped his glass. It shattered into tiny, crystalline shards at his feet but he staggared towards the table instead, bracing himself against it as he swayed, "No." he whispered, "It's impossible. Delita died at Fort Zeakden."  
  
"Well, higness, if I knew this news would cause you so much stress I would've with held it."  
  
"No, no." Dycedarg shook his head vehemently, mumbling beneath his breath "It's good... I... something will have to be done about this..."  
  
Gafgharion stood abruptly, "Okay. In which case, this being none of my business, I shall now take my leave." Dycedarg waved him off impatiently, anxious to be alone with his thoughts...  
  
*  
  
Cardinal Draclau was a large and contemplative man who always sat with his fingers intwined and rested across his wide knees. His gaze was penetrating, and whenever he spoke in that calm, deep voice a smacking noise followed his words, sounding much like the man was licking something off the roof of his mouth.  
  
"I understand you situation, Captain Oakes." he soothed, "And I assure you that I will do everything in my power to help expose Larg's plot and keep the Princess safe from harm."  
  
"Do you really think the High Priest Funeral will help us?" Agrias wondered warily, "After all, the Murond church has never exactly been known for it's willingness to help strangers."  
  
Draclau smiled sweetly, "Do not worry, Captain Oakes. I'm with you, I'm sure we'll figure something out... besides, we muct act strong to make the Princess feel at ease." he groaned as he stood, placing a supporting hand in the small of his back, and appraoched the small gathering in his office, "You must make yourself at home in this old castle. Anything you need, do not hesitate to ask. Now, Young Mechanic..."  
  
Mustadio's head shot up form where he had been staring at the ground dejectedly, toeing at the buildup of dust o\in one of the corners.  
  
"The good lady Captain Oakes has also told me of your dilemma. Mustadio was your name, was it not?"  
  
Mustadio nodded hastily, "Yes, yes. Mustadio Bununza."  
  
"I was not aware that the Bart Company had such... dealings with the underworld. I have already sent troops to Goug to dissolve the company."  
  
Mustadio's sky blue eyes lit up like firecrackers and he very nearly leapt for joy, "Thank you! Thank you! I don't know how to repay you for this, Cardinal! I'm sure once he's safe, my father will be gratful, but we don't have much in ways of money so..."  
  
Draclau raised a meditating hand and wore a sutiably charmed expression, "Now, now Mustadio. I do not do these things because I desire payment, I do them because it is the divine will of Ajora that one always help his neighbour in times of need. All I ask of you is to tell me why the Bart Company was after you."  
  
Mustadio's glee faded and he withdrew once again into his corner, "I... um, I can't tell you that..."  
  
Draclau walked back to his desk and sat down again, nodding somberly, "That's alright... I think I might understand. Does it have something to do with this?" Draclau's hand reached into one of his many drawers and he produced a fist-size red stone. He placed it on the table and nudged it gently towards his audience. Mustadio gasped.  
  
"What is this?" Agrias raised an eyebrow at the Cardinal, who simply smiled.  
  
"Have you ever heard the 'Ledgend of the Zodiac Braves'?" he replied.  
  
"You mean that old Fairy Tale children always hear in church?" Agrais scoffed, "What of it?"  
  
Draclau's expression darkened, "Here now. Are you saying the church lied?"  
  
Agrias shook her head nervously and did a light bow, "Oh no, no. I didn't mean that at all!"  
  
Ramza had been sitting on a step near the entrance of the room only half listening to the exchange until that point. He polished his sword aimlessly, but at the mentioned of this 'Fairy Tale', his curiosity perked. He rose slowly and came to stand beside Mustadio against a far wall.  
  
"Long ago when the land was much different, twelve Holy Warriors fought against the evil Lucavi, hideous demons who ruled the world.After a desperate battle, they sent all the Lucavi to Hades, the Underworld, and the land was peaceful again." Ovelia's voice droned softly almost like she was reading directly from a textbook, "They each had stones with the Zodiac Signs on them and these stones gave them power, so they were called the Zodiac Braves. Since then, whenever the land is in trouble, the twelve Holy Warriors of the Zodiac will come again to save us, just like in old times."  
  
"You're wuite learned Princess." Draclau said, clearly impressed, "Though I would expect no less from a student of Father Simon."  
  
Ovelia blushed modestly, "Yes. Mr. Simon taught me a lot of stories during my time at Orbonne. He also said the St. Ajora and the Braves saved Ivalice from chaos once too, and that's why the Murond King wanted him hanged. But I... ah, I always thought they were just stories... not quite true, but metaphors for living."  
  
Draclau reached for the stone that lay on the desk and ran his fingers over it thoughtfully, "Yes, we call these stones the Holy Stones because of the great deeds one can fufill with their power. They say it's divine power will supress Lucavi." he peered through the stone much in the same manner that Mustadio had when his father had first shown him Tauras, "I feel a strange power... but it looks just like an ordinary stone to me..."  
  
Ramza noticed that Mustadio was gaping at the Cardinal in horror, his gloved hands wringing themselves incessantly and his eyes unblinking. He leaned slightly towards the blonde mechanic and whispered, "What's wrong? You're very pale."  
  
Draclau's vindictive gaze found Mustadio and he place the stone on the desk once more, "You saw the same thing udnerground Goug, didn't you? In the mines."  
  
Mustadio gulped and breathed deeply a few times before answering, "There are many broken machine parts hidden under the city. Most times, you can't get them to work but when the stone gets near them, they start to howl."  
  
"Bart's Company is after the stone, aren't they?" Draclau persisted, "You have it. That's why they're after you."  
  
"I don't know what power the stone has..." Mustadio's voice was shaky, but defensive, "It may be good and it may be evil, but I don't care. All I know it that Rudvich wants to tuse it's power to make weapons. My father told me to keep the stone from it at all costs, even if it meant my life or his... that's why they abducted him, because they want me to tell them where the stone is." at this point, his speech became tinted slightly with viciousness, "But I'll never tell! Even if they have to kill me and pry the information from my corpse, no one will ever find it." he narrowed his eyes at the Cardinal, "I mean no disrespect sir, but not even you."  
  
Draclau's mood lightened instantly. He laughed and spread his arms, "Don't worry Mustadio! I am a man of the church, what need have I for limitless power? I was just curious."  
  
Mustadio eased a little, but the color hadn't yet flowed back into his face.  
  
"I'll go to Goug with you." Ramza turned to Mustadio and nodded resolutely, "The fighting may not be finished when you arrive. Besides, I have nowhere to go anyways..."  
  
Mustadio tipped his head like he was going to object, then shrugged, "Sure. I really appreciate it, Ramza. I hope you know, but please, when you meet my father don't mind him. He's a bit of a flake."  
  
Agrais took Ramza's hand and shook it firmly, "We made it this far thanks to you, Ramza."  
  
Ovelia nodded, "Yes, thank you. I just wish I could have been more help."  
  
Ramza turned bright red and scratched his head with his free hand, "Oh no, you could have done it without me."  
  
The Cardinal laughed heartily at this and proclaimed that Ramza was a fine young man before ushering the entire group off the the kitchen for some supper before Mustadio and Ramza went on their way.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
V.  
' 'Truth' is a subjective word, perhaps the most so in our language. It's so easy to twist the truth into the half-truth, which is worse than a lie because one can never directly proclaim it to be untrue. The problem is that in wartime, whatever your superiors tells you 'The Truth' is, that's what you are forced to believe and live by, therefore everyone fights for their own personal 'Truth' and in the end, no one can tell where the lies begin...'  
- The Durai Reports, Chapter I  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ramza's first impression of Mustadio's home town was a coughing fit. He had never really thought about it before, how a city could be so self contained that the moment he stepped through the main gates of Goug it seemed he had been transported to another world entirely. The air fogged thick and black and the heavy throng of people, carts and animals increased the background noise a considerable amount of decibles. An ox-driven carriage flew past them, causing clouds of soot-sprinkled dust in the air and Ramza's lungs just couldn't take it anymore.  
  
He doubled over, one hand on his stomach and the other over his mouth as he convulsed. People stared at him disdainfully and Mustadio grinned with an embrassed smile as he waved them off, patiently leading Ramza out of the crowded street by his shuddering shoulders. When his fit passed, he blinked and attempted to decipher his surroundings through the hazy smog.  
  
"I don't mean to be rude, Mustadio..." he began tenatively, jogging a few steps to catch up with the swiftly moving mechanic, "But did you really grow up here? I mean..."  
  
Mustadio shot Ramza a winning sile over a narrow shoulder, "It takes getting used to I know. Anyways, you think the streets are bad, wait until you see the mines!"  
  
"I'll pass, thank you." Ramza rolled his eyes and scanned the foreign surroundings in awe. The buildings were all stone and glass except for the occasional wooden shack leaning haphazardly against a larger structure. The signs above the shops glew in gray gloom and almost all of the people had dark hair and glimmering-black eyes. His head was turned to his left observing a particularily interesting establishment with a curious picture of a dancing woman painted outside of it when Mustadio stopped abruptly in front of him. Ramza slammed into his friend's back and scrambled backwards, only to be jostled by strangers.  
  
Mustadio saved Ramza from getting swallowed in the crowd by grabbing his wrist sharply and dragging him round a corner onto a less crowded walkway. His expression was grim.  
  
"What's wrong?" Ramza whispered, sensing the brevity of the situation.  
  
"Something's wrong..." Mustadio muttered back, tugging at Ramza's arm with an increasing urgency.  
  
"You think Bart Company escaped?"  
  
Mustadio bit his pale bottom lip and stopped, releasing Ramza's arm. He looked around catiously, "I don't know. I haven't seen any of Rudvich's agents, but it doesn't seem like there's been a fight. Something is very, definitely wrong here..." he paused, then gestured towards the brightly decorated hovel across the road from them, "Hey, Ramza... I need to check something out, but it's somewhere a non-Gougian can go, if you know what I mean. Can I trust you to meet me in the alley behind this bar in exactly three hours?"  
  
Ramza furrowed his brow, "Of course you can. I'm not a child."  
  
Mustadio cracked a strained grin, "I know Ramza. Sorry, I'm just a bit... tense right now."  
  
"I understand."  
  
"Okay. Don't forget, three hours!" Mustadio held up three fingers before melting into the crowd. Ramza sighed and looked the bar over warily. It didn't seem like the kind of place one would want to spend a respectable evening in, but if Mustadio was recommending it, he should trust the boy's word. Besides, it was better than getting lost.  
  
He attempted to make his entrance inconspicuous and took a secluded seat in the front corner of the bar. When the barmaid asked him for his order, he requested the least flashy beverage they had- milk- and waited in silence. He drank his milk contemplatively, studying the broken mechanical clock on the far wall with almost inhuman concentration. Which is why he jumped at the mere mention of his name.  
  
"Well, well, well... if it isn't little Ramza Beoulve."  
  
Ramza nearly fell out of his chair, his milk glass spilling it's contents out over his boots and shin-gaurds. He was so busy wiping at the drink furiously with his pocket hankerchief that he didn't notice the owner of the voice sit down opposite of him. When he rose, nose wrinkled up from the milk's strong, sour smell, he found himself staring into a pair of wry, green eyes and an arched eyebrow. He jumped again.  
  
"Don't use that name!" He whispered harshly, "And who are you!?"  
  
The girl looked taken aback. She crossed her arms over her chest, both lost in the billowing, multi-colored and patched cloak of a Wizard. Her pointed hat sat before her on the table, it's point crumpled slightly at the tip.  
  
"I'm Stepfanaie Arlock."  
  
Ramza stared blankly. The girl huffed and brushed an unbelieviably long strand of brown hair over her shoulder, "From Gariland!" she stressed.  
  
Ramza remembered faintly, a long haired, quick tempered Chemist with Murondic features. This girl looked an aful lot like the girl who had treated his wounds during their exam... hadn't she wanted to be a... Wizard?  
  
"I remember you." he said finally, feeling a bit dim, "You were always in my attack squadron."  
  
Stefanaie nodded an affirmative and began tending to her hat, smoothing out the wrinkles and tweaking the point so that it stood up impeccably, "So what do I call you then?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
The Wizard sighed exasperatedly, crushing her hat's point down to the table. She narrowed her strange colored eyes at Ramza, "Well, you don't want to go by Ramza Beoulve. What should I call you? And may I ask why you're in Goug under an alias? Pretty tricky business for a noble if I may say so... and while you're at it, where's Hyral? Last I checked you two were practically joined at the hip."  
  
Ramza felt buried under the barrage of questions, and it took him a moment to sort them all out in his mind, "Um... I go by Ramza Ruglia now. I'm not really with the Beoulve family anymore so I had to take up a job as a mercenary to get money. You know how it is."  
  
The girl gave out a short laugh, "You'll really need a better fake name than that to get by, you know. Ramza's not exactly a popular name and God, do you look like a Beoulve!"  
  
Ramza shrugged, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, "Well, it's gotten me by well enough up until now... and who are you to judge anyways?"  
  
Stefanaie grinned enigmatically, "Just think of it as a point of advice from one Gariland graduate to another... by the way, you didn't answer my third question. Where's Hyral? In our last month at school he recommended a book to me and I've been wanting to write a letter to him or something... it was very good, you see."  
  
Ramza froze still at the question. He had been about to answer with a saddened expression and heavy heart that Delita had died over a year ago, but he remembered.... Delita was alive, just... "I... don't know where Delita is right now. Last year, just after we graduated, his sister died during a battle and then... well... things got a little hectic and I don't really hear from him much."  
  
Stefanaie opened her mouth to reply, but obviously lost her words. She pulled her hat down over her head firmly, hiding her tart face beneath it's impressive shadow, "That's unfortunate. Death and the breaking of unbreakable friendships... I'm sorry Ramza, I really am..."  
  
"Yeah... but it's all in the past now..." Ramza ran his finger slowly around the cloudy rim of his once milk-filled glass, "What brings you to Goug?"  
  
Stefanaie pushed the brim of her hat up so that only her bright eyes were visible beneath the mess, "Well, after graduation the rest of our squad banded together. You know, Remington, Aston and Elitannia? We've been travelling and doing odd jobs since. Made a pretty good living."  
  
Ramza's eyes lit up, "Remington? You mean Remington Orvius? He's here?"  
  
"Erm." Stefanaie shrugged apologetically, "Fraid' not. I'm here on my own actually. We split up three days ago for a proposition, but we're meeting up back in Warjiis in about a week."  
  
"Ah." Ramza lowered his eyes, "How's Rem doing?"  
  
"Same old, same old. You know how jerks like him amble through life." she pulled the brim of her hat down again, "He's a Knight now. But Elitannia dumped him soon as she started studying Summoning. That's some magic, needs lots of concentration. No time for a boyfriend, you know."  
  
Ramza didn't know, in fact, having never really stopped to pay much attention to the ladies aside form occasionally noting one's good looks. He did feel a pang of inadequecy hearing of Remington's new rank. Ramza himself was still barely a squire.  
  
"You still haven't told me why you're here."  
  
Ramza's mind popped back into reality and he realized that, indeed, he had not given the girl a halfways straight answer. He glance at the clock again, only to find that the minute hand had not moved since Stefanaie had come to sit down, "I just finished a job of sorts. I'm here to help a friend."  
  
"Oh." Stefanaie said like it was meaningful. Then she leaned forwards and placed a hand aside her mouth, "This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that whole 'Bart Company' mess?"  
  
Ramza's eyes widened and he met Stefanaie's gaze, "How did you know about that!?"  
  
Stefanaie leaned back in her chair casually, "I know everything." she winked before rising out of her seat and waving cheerfully, "Well Ramza, I suppose I'll see you around!"  
  
"Um, yeah." Ramza waved back and his mind began counting down the seconds until he had to meet Mustadio once again, eyes trained on the forever motionless clock.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Exactly two hours, thirty three minutes and four seconds later (or something like that- he had lost count at least sixteen times) Ramza paced the muddy, wheel worn rut behind the bar.  
  
"He's late..." Ramza felt a distinct wetness on his cheek and he looked up just in time to meet a raindrop falling into his eye. He wiped at it furiously, and the clouds ripped open, dumping an impressive downpour over the city of Goug, Ramza wrapped his arms around himself and leaned against a wall, mumbling, "He's really late... I wonder if Mustadio was caught..."  
  
"Are you a friend of the Bununza boy?"  
  
Ramza whipped his head up to see thw owner of the voice, a hefty middle-aged man with a shock of dirty-brown hair, expensive looking robes and an umbrella slung over one shoulder. He smiled, but it was a sickly smile that made Ramza shudder inwardly."Who are you?" Ramza demanded.   
  
Then man's answer was to snap his fingers and shout out over his shoulder. "Bring him!" A sly looking chemist and a burly theif tore into the alley supporting a limp, blonde boy between them. The boy looked up and Ramza gasped, it was Mustadio, but his face was bruised and broken in places, blood leaking from his nose and left cheek. Both his eyes were black around the edges and he could barely hold them open.  
  
He coughed, "S-sorry Ramza."  
  
Ramza drew his sword and stepped forwards, "Mustadio! Are you okay!?"  
  
"Don't come any closer." The older man drew a large weapon from his belt buckle and Ramza recognized it to be a 'gun', much like the one Mustadio carried. Ramza backed off, but did not ease his grip on his sword. Hopefully, he didn't look as battle-green as he felt.  
  
"So you must be Bart Rudvich." he growled attempting to sound brave. His mind twisted itself inside out trying to figure a way out of the situation, "Let Mustadio go and I'll consider sparing your life!" no, that was all wrong.  
  
Rudvich chuckled thickly, "Brave words when you're outnumbered three to one. Now, be a nice little boy and give us the Holy Stone. We know Mustadio hid it here."  
  
"I don't know what your talking about. I don't know anything about a 'Holy Stone'." Ramza's courage was beginning to shrivel away and his sword shook in his hands.  
  
"Of course you know where it is." Rudvich's gun made a clicking noise and he raised the muzzle higher, turning to Mustadio, "Come now, Mustadio. I'm a fair man. Tell me where the Holy Stone is and I promise not to embed a bullet in your friend here's heart."  
  
Mustadio looked up frightened, his puffy-blue eyes dancing nervously. He pulled away from his captors weakly and fell at Rudvich's feet.  
  
"Fine, I'll tell you where it is."  
  
"Mustadio! No!" Ramza lept forwards, but his friend shot him an angry look that plainly said: 'Don't mess things up Ramza. I know what I'm doing.'  
  
"In father's workshop. It will be in the chest under the desk."  
  
Rudvich lowered the gun and smiled evilly, "Excellent. The Cardinal will be pleased." He kicked Mustadio violently under the chin, sending the mechanic flying into the wall. Mustadio slumped like a broken doll and Ramza was fearful for a moment that the boy might be dead. Then his eyes popped open and he turned his mischivious glance towards Ramza, grinning beneath his wounds.  
  
"I'll trust you boys to clean up here." Bart dissapeared around the corner of the alley and before Ramza could blink, the theif was on him He barely had enough time to raise his sword and catch the double knives en route to his neck. The rain made for hard fighting and it didn't help much that the theif was large and well-musceled. Ramza's heels dug into the wet-mud, causing him to slide back under his opponent's superior force. He slipped out from beneath it and spun, but the theif was fast as well. Ramza parried and feinted for his life, but didn't find a window of opportunity until his foe made an error, slipping on the mud and turning his back to Ramza ungaurded for just a second. Ramza slashed with his sword across the theif's back. It was only a light wound, but enough to make the larger man cry out in pain and drop his weapons.  
  
"Stop right there!" Ramza had forgotten about the chemist, which turned out to be a mistake since the sly and skinny man now had Mustadio buckled beneath his forearm and was pressing a knife to the mechanic's neck, "Don't hurt him anymore and your friend lives."  
  
Ramza spat, "You'll kill us anyways, those were your orders."  
  
The chemist pressed the knife harder and a single drop of blood leaked out over it's glinted blade, immedietly washed away by the rain. And then, there was a hole in the chemist's head. His eyes clouded over with death instantly and he fell backwards, leaving his blood splattered over Mustadio's skin and clothing. The theif yelped loudly and scrambled over the wall and out of the alley for his life.  
  
Mustadio and Ramza stared at each other wide eyed before turning their attention to out of the alley to where the shot of death had been fired. There, illuminated by the glow of the street and hat bent beneath the pressure of the rainstorm, stood a young wizardess, smoking gun still held in the direction of the dead chemist. She lowered the gun carefully and pulled off her hat.  
  
"Stefanaie!?" Ramza exclaimed.  
  
The long-haired girl shrugged and tucked the gun into one of her many pockets, "I'm a trained chemist. Besides, I grew up in Goug."  
  
  
*  
  
  
Surprisingly, Besrodio was in much better shape than his son, for someone who had been stuffed in a drain gutter for five months. He blinked a bit, as if he didn't recognize his surroundings, then his eyes, the same sky-blue as his son's, lit up with joy.  
  
"Mustadio!" he exclaimed, happily wrapping his strong arms around his child. Ramza and Stefanaie helped the two Goug natives into the bar and sat them down at a table near the back. As soon as they were seated comfortably, Besrodio turned on his son angrily.  
  
"I heard them talking! How could you give them the stone!" he hissed, "Don't you know that Rudvich will try to revive the old weapons beneath Goug with it's power! And now that the Cardinal is in on it, there's nothing we can do ot get it back! What were you thinking, boy!"  
  
Mustadio smiled smugly and placed his chin in one palm, aquiring a knowing air. This was quite a feat, considering he was doing it through two black-eyes, a split lip and clothing stained with both blood and dirt, "Heh. Good for them."  
  
Besrodio reeled and glanced at his son questioningly, "Mustadio! This is no laughing matter!"  
  
Mustadio reached deep into the travelling pack that hung off his belt beside his gun and pulled out a dark-yellow crystal. He threw it up in the air casually, allowing it to catch the light of the bar lamps, then shoved it back into the pack, "They forgot to check the most obvious place. I made a fake, y'know, just in case something like this happened."  
  
Besrodio buried his face in his hands making an exhausted noise, "My God, boy. You make me cry sometimes..."  
  
"So... you mean they DON'T have the real stone?" Ramza was impressed with Mustadio's forsight. To tell the truth, he never would have figured the boy as the type to give something that much thought.  
  
"Of course not!" Mustadio laughed merrily, "They must be halfways to Lionel castle by now and going absolutely crazy!"  
  
"I still can't believe the Cardinal was in on this." Stefanaie muttered, injecting herself into the conversation, "He's a man of the chruch afterall..."  
  
"Before we get into any further discussion." Besrodio cut her off, "I do believe that introductions are in order."  
  
Mustadio smiled guilty, "Sorry Dad, of course. Um, this is Ramza..." Besrodio reached out and shook Ramza's ahnd firmly, "He saved my life up in Goland. Him and this Knight, a lady named Agrias Oakes. And this is Stefanaie Arlock." Stefananie forwent the handshake but she nodded in Besrodio's direction and removed her hat to show her face, "I just became aquainted with her back in the alley tonight. She also saved my life."  
  
Besrodio smiled at his son wryly, "Wow, you do collect life-debts like most men collect bottle caps. Why did I ever let you leave home?"  
  
Mustadio blushed beneath the layer of mud caked on his face, "Hey! I can usually take care of myself, but it's kind of diffficult for one to do so when they can barely stand!"  
  
"Anyways..." Stefanaie coughed loudly and none to politely, "Back to more important matters, I know it's none of my business, but the Cardinal being in on this whole stone plot... doesn't seem too useful for you guys. The next time someone comes for the stone, it'll be the Lionel army that's after you."  
  
"We'll be out of Lionel tommorow. Then we'll figure out what to do."  
  
"Wait." Ramza slammed his palms on the table, "Agrias and Ovelia! They're in danger!"  
  
Mustadio crinkled his brow in Ramza's direction, "What do you mean? They're safe in the castle... oh shit!"  
  
Ramza sighed, "It all makes sense. If the Cardinal was in on it for the stone as well, what's to keep him from taking Ovelia hostage? We've got to get back to the castle!"  
  
"You'll have to take the back way in, in that case." Stefanaie commented, "The front will be far too gaurded. There's a transport boat leaving for Warjiis by sea tommorow. That's your best bet."  
  
Besrodio nodded thougtfully, "The lady's right. You guys better start getting rested up."  
  
"But wait..." Mustadio scratched his head in deep thought, "I still don't understand. Why would the Cardinal want the stones in the first place? He said it himself, he has no desire for unlimited power."  
  
"The Zodiac Brave Story..." Ramza replied quietly. Everyone turned to stare at him intently as he spoke, "His intentions may not have been evil at first... people are sick of wars and political infighting. Exploiting the ledgend of the Zodiac Braves by using the Holy Stones to create new braves he can bring the entire world under control."  
  
"Unite the provinces again." Stefanaie scoffed, "But the way he's going about it right now we'll be ruled under nothing more than another dictatorsip."  
  
"Most governments turn into dictatorships in the end." Besrodio agreed, "No matter how good the intentions of it's propegator. Power makes men mad."  
  
There was a long observed silence that Mustadio broke, clapping his hands, "Well, then it's decided. Tommorow morning Ramza and I'll take the first transport to Warjiis." he turned to the Wizard, "How about it Stefanaie? You wanna tag along?"  
  
Stefanaie shook her head, "Love to, I really would. But you see, I've got a job to do here. I'm supposed to be teaching some kid here math as part of my Calculator training. Figured I'd learn some math skills myself... sure beats drinking ethers all the time."  
  
"Well, hopefully we'll meet up again in the future." Ramza waved as the Wizardess gathered her cloak about her, ready to excuse herself from the conversation.  
  
She winked, "Oh, I'd bet on it."  
  
  
*  
  
  
"So you're using the Princess as bait to get the stone back? Hardly sounds like something a Holy man would do."  
  
"You know, Gaff Gafgharion, you're maddening insubordinace almost doesn't make you worth the gil I pay you." Cardinal Draclau spoke through cleched teeth, barely containing his contempt for his two guests.  
  
"Besides." Rudvich added huskily, "If you hadn't let them escape, things would have been fine."  
  
"Hey!" Gagharion pointed an armor clad finger at the crime lord and glared, "The stone was never part of my job. They hadn't even met that mechanic brat when I left. Don't blame me for your mistakes!"  
  
"I'm not the onle one making mistakes here, Gafgharion!"  
  
"Enough, Ruvich." The Cardinal leaned his forehead on one hand, exasperated, "I'll return Ovelia to Lord Dycedarg as promised, the stone is your only concern. But he does have a point, Gafgharion. Don't you need to get rid of those who know about the kidnapping anyways? The theif who took the stone is almost certainly with Ramza. You can catch them both using the Princess. Two birds with one stone."  
  
"Exactly what I was thinking." Gafgharion's voice was with held and not as certain as it usually was. He look at the Cardinal warily, "But what if..."  
  
"You are being weak." Draclau proclaimed.  
  
Gafgharion shook his head, " 'Careful' is more like it. You've got to be careful if you want to survive on the battlefield."  
  
"I'll make sure you're protected."  
  
"That's not what I was getting at." Gafgharion growled, sighing heavily to close the subject. Rudvich and the Cardinal both stared at him mildly confused.  
  
"If you'd like, we'll prepare an ambush of sorts... we need to put that other woman to use somehow."  
  
Gafgharion's dark eyes flickered, "Do you mean Lady Oakes? I hardly think that's necessary. I'll be fine on my own."  
  
Rudvich snickered into his hand, "Do I sense that you have some sort of affection for this woman, Gaff? How... unbecoming."  
  
Gafgharion almost blushed. Almost, "I have affection for no one, I'm a mercenary. Allies today may be enemies tommorow. Even you, Mr. Rudvich." Gafgharion stressed the respectful title in such a manner that Bart caught the hidden meaning and withdrew from the confrontation, no longer sneering.  
  
"Fine then." Draclau interjected, "I'll leave it up to you."  
  
"Are you serious!" Bart objected, glancing at his leader pleadingly in disbelief.  
  
"Don't let me down Gafgharion."  
  
Gafgharion stretched his arms and yawned as he kicked back from the table and rose energetically from his seat, "No problem. I'll even get the stone back, you'll see. I'm MUCH more reliable than him." The door swung a few times as he exited. When he was gone, Bart glared at the Cadinal incredeously.  
  
"Why him? He's got a bad habit of betraying his former employeers! What's wrong with you!?"  
  
Draclau slowly opened the top drawer of his desk and removed something, clenching it tightly in his left fist. He stared intently at some point on the wall far beyond Rudvich's head. Bart looked over his shoulder and saw nothing, so returned his eyes to the Cardinal.  
  
"What? What's wrong?"  
  
"You've failed me too many times, Rudvich. Now it's time to take some responsibility."  
  
The room was engulfed in a deep, red light that seemed somehow... unholy. Bart's eyes went glassy with terror. He backed into the wall and clawed at it desperately in an attempt to escape, but it was too late. The next day a maid reported that she had heard screaming from Cardinal Draclau's office approximately four minutes after Gaff Gafgharion took his leave, but her duty officer said that she had probably just been imagining things again and the incident was not put on record.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
VI.  
'While everyone's path is littered with the occasional pothole, mercenaries are often faced with canyons to cross and moutains to climb. Fortunately, they are often clever enough to go around them.'  
- Famous Proverb  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ramza was exceedingly glad to finally arrive in Warjiis and get some solid ground under his sea sick feet. He couldn't stumble off the ship fast enough, nearly falling once he hit ground that wasn't moving.  
  
Mustadio followed behind a couple people and couldn't help but laugh. He patted Ramza on the shoulder and shook his head, "Ramza, Ramza, Ramza. You are niave... never been inside a bar, never seen a steam engine and never been on a boat. What are you, a sheltered noble kid?"  
  
Ramza wanted very badly to answer, 'Yes. That's exactly what I am not leave me be so I can elegantly go throw up my last three meals into the sea' but restrained himself. He suggested: "Hey, Mustadio, why don't you go Inn shopping? I think I might need some fresh air to recupperate."  
  
Mustadio raised a speculative eyebrow, "Can I trust you not to let yourself get picked up by some old sailor looking for a little fun? And I don't mean boxoum lady sailors."  
  
Ramza gagged on whatever he was going to say and spun Mustadio to face him, "Can that really happen!?"  
  
Mustadio calmly removed Ramza hands from his shoulders, "I was just kidding, Ramza. My father always used to say stuff like that to me... like that I look too much like my mother so all the old miners would want a piece of me. It's just for fun Ramza, don't take things so seriously."  
  
Ramza caught his breath and composed himself, then thought about it really hard. When Mustadio put it like that, it actually was kind of funny, "Hey, you and your father are really close, aren't you?"  
  
Mustadio's expression became serious and he ran a slender hand through his slick, yellow hair, "Yeah... I really don't know. We don't really... talk... like we used to when mom was alive. It's mostly like we just try to avoid the subject, you know. And with me away for most of the year anyways..." he fiddled with the buttons on his travelling coat and looked at Ramza, "What about your father? Does he know what where you are right now? I get the feeling you've been away from home for a long time."  
  
Ramza's breath caught in his throat and he remembered the dream he had the night before leaving Gariland. That was the day everything had started, "My father died... several years ago." 'Don't worry father, I won't forget.'  
  
Mustadio's eyes flickered and he hung his head, embarassed, "Oh. I'm sorry. I know how it is, never easy to lose a parent."  
  
"It's okay. He was ready to go anyways. And then there was my older brother, he took care of the rest of us."  
  
"You've got siblings?" Mustadio looked up again, this time his gaze curious.  
  
Ramza nodded, "Two older brothers and a younger sister. And... well, before father died he adopted two other children. Their farm burned down and they showed up on our doorstep. But they were different, um..." not commoners, "... they were Murondic."  
  
"Ah." Mustadio said as if he completely understood, "You're from where? Up in Igros I suspect. You don't see many evidence of old Murond up there, do you? I never had any siblings. The whole concept seems strange to me... my parents always thought I was a hand full on my own."  
  
Ramza laughed, glad that the conversation had taken up lighter tones once again, "I can certainly see how that came about!"  
  
"Hey!" Mustadio's voice turned defensive, "I was a really good kid... just loud and a bit over-exuberant, but all kids are like that!"  
  
'I wasn't.' Ramza thought, but he didn't vocalize. It was hard being the youngest boy in a family of warriors and ploiticians. Something about the war being so close to home really quiets a child. Alma was the same way, they only spoke when necessary.  
  
"Annnnnnyyyyyways, I'd better get to finding an Inn our we'll be sleeping out on the streets tonight, and I don't mean to complain, but I don't exactly think my body could handle that in this state, "He gestured towards his face, still split and bruised.  
  
Ramza nodded and found a seat atop a wooden cargo crate. He pulled their luggage up beside him and waved as Mustadio left. Already he could feel his stomach settling back into place and his muddled insides shifting into the proper order. He turned his gaze on the water and for a moment, admired it's dark sapphire crystalline beauty, stretching to a limited infinitey to meet azure skies. Now that he had time to appreciate it from a neutral spot, rather than on top of it, Ramza could admit that the sea had it's own kind of un-ending beauty. It looked so calm and peaceful from afar, until you looked closer and noticed then white tipped waves tossing about helpless ships.  
  
Ramza's father always used to say nature had hidden patterns, but he also used to say that people were foten like nature- what you saw at first glance was often not all there was to see.  
  
Ramza closed his eyes and breathed in the sea breeze deeply. As much as he hadn't enjoyed his short journey by ship between Goug and Warjiis, he had aquired a love for the smell of fresh, sea air. Something about the subtle mingling of salt and wave stirred his heart which, he concluded, was probably why do many poets were anxious to write about the ocean.  
  
Someone sat down beside him, breaking his train of thought. The manner in which this person moved was almost, and Ramza could think of no better way to describe it, familiar. He opened his eyes only to find himself staring at a sharp, dark and wounded face he would have known anywheres.  
  
"Delita!" he gasped, "What are you doing here!?"  
  
"Heard you might be here." The dark haired boy answered simply.  
  
"What? What do you mean by that?" Ramza wondered if Delita was being vauge and sudden on purpose, or if he was just missing the point.  
  
Delita leaned forwards slightly and placed a hevay hand on Ramza's shoulder. The young Beoulve noticed then the dark and anrgy brun marks running up his arms under his shirt sleeves like huge, bloody veins causing his mind to harken up the images of pain, fire and death that were Fort Zeakden in his cloudy memory. He also noticed that Delita's skin was strinkingly pale, more so than he had ever seen it and especially for early summer. His gloves were dark leather, tied up firmly around the sides and with loose cuiffs. He was dressed considerably nicer than the time at the bridge, scant traces of gold trim here and there, but for the most part plainer than even Ramza's scruffy armor.  
  
"Go back to Igros, Ramza, for your own sake," Delita said softly, his voice tinged with something like concern and sounding almost like the boy Ramza had known from childhood, "It's healthier to keep your nose out of certain things... things like princesses and stones."  
  
Ramza's expression soured and he shrugged Delita's hand off, resenting the condescending tone his old friend had taken on. It was much like the way Balbanes would speak to his children when trying to gloss over the losses posted in those dreaded monthly war reports. Sometimes, Ramza swore that Delita had inherited more from his family than he had.  
  
"Why do you care so much? If we rescue the Princess, doesn't that just make your job easier?"  
  
" 'The best ways don't always lead to the best results'." Delita sounded as if he were quoting something, "Rescuing the Princess only sovles one problem. I can save her from all of them." the dark haired boy's voice turned wistful then, and he looked out over the sea much like Ramza had done only minutes earlier. Ramza remembered Ovelia's shy adoration of her captor-turned-rescuer and wondered if maybe, just maybe...  
  
... no that was ridiculous. "Delita... how did you survive?" the words fell unbidden from Ramza's lips before he could stop them. After they were asked, he felt like slamming his head into the nearest blunt surface until he bled.  
  
But Delita showed no emotion. His eyes didn't even flicker red like they used to when faced with unsavory subjects. He answred Ramza's question, "Teta... Teta saved me... I guess she was watching over me."  
  
Ramza swallowed thickly, turning this thought over in his mind, trying to process exactly what Delita was saying when the boy stood up and began to leave. Ramza leapt up after him.  
  
"Wait! Delita! What is it that you're trying to do?"  
  
Delita stopped and raised his face to the horizen. His shoulders rose and fell slowly as if he were sighing, "Larg, Goltana, your brothers... haven't you noticed, Ramza? They're all caught up in the same flow... I'm just going against it, that's all." he looked back at Ramza over his shoulder and smiled bitterly, "I'll see you again, Ramza... if either of us live that long."  
  
"Delita..." but already his figure receeded into the sparse crowd, somehow forbidding that anyone follow. Mustadio randomly appeared from that same direction, coat undone and waving his arms excitedly. He practically tumbled Ramza over, grabbing his arm excitedly.  
  
"Hey! I found us a halfway decent Inn right off the bat! And you would NOT believe who I ran into there! ... hey, Ramza, are you okay?" Mustadio switched his gaze to dissapearing silouhette of Delita, then back to his stunned friend, "Did you know him or something?"  
  
Ramza thought about this for a few moments and decided that this Delita was different from the one he had known. Delita was always serious, not cold; intelligent, not cunning; tempered, not emotionless. His smiles had been rare, true, but they were never lined bitter and pained, they were always genuine and warm. Ramza shook his head and leaned over to pick up his travelling bag, "No. I don't know him."  
  
  
*  
  
  
"Ramza! Buddy! Where have you been!? And while you're at it, whatever happened to Hyral?"  
  
"Why is that always the second or third question someone asks me?" Ramza mumbled, still reeling and utterly confused from his ealier encounter.  
  
Stefanaie leaned over and whispered to Remington discreetly, "Delita's kinda gone AWOL. Bit of a touchy subject."  
  
"Oh." Remington turned red and buried his face in his beer.  
  
"What brings you to Warjiis?" Elitannia McDowell wondered, smoothing her pert, honey-colored hair as it fell endearingly over her shoulders. With her elegant Summoner's cloaks falling about her all green velvet and gold, crossed over a black dress, Elitannia's womanly beauty had taken on a most intimidating quality. Mustadio blushed bright pink everytime the pretty Gariland graduate opened her mouth. Ramza, however, had gone through school with her and fielded the question with relative ease.  
  
"Well, you see, we inadvertantly got ourselves mixed up in this whole mess involving the Bart Company and the Cardinal Draclau, so we're kind of on the run now, but first we've got to stop off at Lionel castle to rescue to Princess who may or may not be a hostage due to our actions."  
  
This brought a hush over the table. Elitannia blinked, Stefanaie nodded sagely, Remington spit his beer back into his glass, sputtered in shock and the small, dark haired boy at the end of the table dropped the bow he had been studiously restringing and stared at Ramza admiringly.  
  
"The Princess Ovelia?" he whispered.  
  
Mustadio shrugged, "Yeah, well, it's not exactly a hired job. It's just that we were travelling with her before so common courtesy dictates..."  
  
"Wow..." Remington marvelled, "You mean you two were actually shacking up with her holiness, the Princess Ovelia Atkascha!? Talk about scoring!"  
  
Stefanaie punched the Knight in the shoulder with as much force as her tiny first could manage. He yelped and glared at her, wounded, "Not everyone thinks about scoring all the time, Remington. Just you." for extra measure, she kicked him savagely under the table, then turned and smiled sweetly at Ramza, "In that case, Ramza, we'll come with you."  
  
"What!?" Ramza excalimed, "You can't do that!?"  
  
Stefanaie pushed the brim of her hat up and stared Ramza down with her green eyes, "And why can't we?"  
  
"Because... it's going to be dangerous and this is none of your business!" Ramza stuttered.  
  
"Yeah!" Mustadio agreed suddenly, having been just as taken aback as his companion, "Who are you to decide for the others?"  
  
"I'm not deciding for the others." Stefanaie insisted, "Just Rem here, because he's too stupid to decide for himself."  
  
Remington glowered, still rubbing his sore shin, "She's lying. Stef's a slave drive. Accept her into your party and you'll never breathe without her permission again."  
  
"Come now Remington." Elitannia commented airily, "She's only that way with the guys."  
  
"Wait, wait..." Ramza cut off the banter and turned the conversation back to the issue at hand, "I don't understand. What's in it for your guys? It makes no sense."  
  
"It makes perfect sense. Elitannia retorted, "There's so much bloodshed these days and so much people making money off it... we just thought it might be nice to be fighting for a cause for once, even if we don't get payed this time."  
  
"And besides," added the small bou breathlessly, "We'll get to meet the Princess Ovelia!"  
  
Stefanaie laughed, "Well, I don't think any of us have that ulterior motive... except for Rem here." she thwacked Remington on his head and he yelped, "Which just goes to show that all men are pigs... well, except for you, Ramza."  
  
"Hey!" Mustadio balked, "What about me? Am I a pig?"  
  
Stefanaie giggled behind her hand, "Oh no, of course not Mustadio, but that has to do mostly with the fact that you're not a man."  
  
Mustadio's face contorted and he jumped up, toppling his seat behind him fuming, "That was completely uncalled for, Wizard! I just suffered severe emotional and physical trauma! Look at me, I bleed!" he waved frantically at his broken wounds, "And how did my dad rub off on you so quickly! You were only around him for a few hours!"  
  
Ramza leaned back in his chair, defeated. He didn't speak, only listened to the cheeful banter, already feeling the weight lifted off his shoulders and being replaced by that comforting sense of stability that comes only from being surrounded by old friends. Even though he hadn't appreciated Rem, Elitannia, Stefanaie and Aston back in his school days, they were here and now he did and that was all that mattered.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Agrias was at once agast and furious and if her icy blue eyes could shoot daggers, Gaff Gafgharion would have been laying in a bloodied pile of raw flesh long ago. Instead, she was restrained by a stotic, Lionel soldier glaring with all her might as the aged mercenary paced in and out of her line of vision.  
  
"Well, Lady Oakes, if this isn't a coincidence."  
  
"A planned coincidence, I have no doubt." Agrias hissed, struggling beneath the large soldier stone-like grip.  
  
"Such hostility!" Gafgharion sounded truly insulted. He stopped pacing and tapped his foot, 'tsk'ing beneath his breath, "And after I've come to offer you your freedom!"  
  
"I'd rather die than accept a favor from you." Agrias replied sharply.  
  
"Well, unfortunately you don't have that option." he came closer and cupped Agria's cheek in his rough, leather-bound hand, "Listen carefully, Agrias, because this is how it works. In a few moments I'm going to have the good Knight here release you. Then I'm going to close my eyes and count to two hundred. You're going to take this window of opportunity and run, get over those castle walls and get yourself as far away from here as you can possibly manage in the time you're given."  
  
Agrias lowered her voice so that it was soft, but deadly, "And what if I decide to instead draw my blade and drive it's cold steel into your heart while your eyes are closed?"  
  
"I won't stop you." Gafgharion grinned knowingly, "I'll be dead. So then what?"  
  
"I suppose you're going to tell me."  
  
"Of course. I'll be dead and then your two hundred seconds will be null. You'll be captured and thrown in the dungeon."  
  
"Yes, but I'll go with the satisfaction of having killed you."  
  
"But what sort of satisfaction will that be when in exchange, Ovelia dies?"  
  
Agrias's face paled, "What?"  
  
Gafgharion released his grip on the female knight's cheek and rose to his full height, smiling down at her in a way that was most certainly creepy, "In exactly fourty-eight hours, the Princess will be executed by order of Lord Dycedarg Beoulve at the Golgorand execution site." he placed a contemplative finger on his lips, "Hmm. Fourty-eight hours. Seems like exactly enough time to get to Warjiis, hire some help, and arrive at Golgorand just in time to stage a heroic rescue. Because that's what you're best at, isn't Captain?"  
  
Agrias mulled over this a moment, "Wait... this makes no sense. Why would you want me to interfere with the execution. Nice try, Gaff, but this reeks of a set up."  
  
"But you'll never know whether I'm telling the truth, will you my dear Lady?" he widened his grin with faux-sweetness, "Besides, I doubt you'll live longer than evening."  
  
"And what if I do make it in time?" Agrias asked, smiling back forcibly, "What then, Gafgharion?"  
  
Gafgharion's expression turned from wicked to truly dangerous, his eyes aquiring that cold, blood-thirsty fire of a seasoned mercenary who loved his job, "Well then, Lady Oakes, that's where things start to get interesting."  
  
The gaurd unclamped his arms from Agrias's and she fell with a short gasp, looking around in confusion. Gafgharion closed his eyes and turned his back to her, "You'd better get a head start, Captain." he called pleasantly over his shoulder, "Two hundred seconds is not nearly as long a time as it sounds!"  
  
  
*  
  
  
Already they could see the lumbering form of Lionel castle looming over the horizen like a dark, shadowy monster in their nightmares. Ramza certainly wasn't looking foreward to the battle, though he had thought himself prepared. The deeper they dug themselves into this situation, the more brutal were the battles they found themselves in and Ramza knew with certainty that he would end up having to kill again.  
  
'You're nothing but a child who doesn't want to face reality! If you don't like it why don't you try living without depending on someone else for a change, otherwise you're going to continue getting caught up in these situations that have nothing to do with you!'  
  
Maybe Gafgharion had been right. Maybe Ramza had no right dealing with any of these dire issues that were far beyond him. Maybe he sould have just stayed at home and become an obidient little brother to Dycedarg like Zalbag.  
  
'But it does have something to do with me,' he sighed, 'If it didn't before, it certainly does now. I don't know how it happened or what it means, but I'm a player now. My contribution to these times may change things. If I withdrew now, things might turn out very differently.' it dawned on Ramza sickeningly, like a red sailor's sky on the morning of an important journey, 'I'm not... insignificant...'  
  
"Hey, is it just me, or does it sound like we're coming up to a battle over this rise?" Stefanaie stopped walking and shushed everyone, cupping a hand around her ear. She squinted as if limiting her vision would enhance her hearing, then jogged ahead, falling to her stomach when she's reached the hill's summit. She stayed there for a few second, then turned her head and beckoned for the other's to follow her lead, green eyes catching the evening sunlight.  
  
Sure enough, there was a battle taking place on the even ground at the base of the shallow hill. A woman seemed to be admirably defending herself against six soldiers, two already laying lifeless at her feet.  
  
Mustadio choked, "Ramza, is it just me or is that really Agrias?" he whispered worriedly.  
  
"That's... defnitely Agrias. Who else would be fighting Lionel troops in a Hokuten uniform?"  
  
"Friend of yours?" Elitannia wondered.  
  
"You could say that." Mustadio groaned and placed his forehead in his palm, "I'm taking this as a very bad sign..."  
  
"Well then." Remington stood and cracked his knuckled loudly, "I hardly think six men on one defensless woman is fair. Perhaps we should break this part up."  
  
Ramza followed his old dorm-mate's lead and rubbed his fingers along his sword's hilt, already dreading drawing it, "I hardly think Agias is helpless, but you've got the right idea."  
  
"Right." Stefanaie and Elitannia stood almost in unison, the young Wizardess looking the pale Aston and beaten Mustadio over, "Aston and Mustadio can cover us from here, we'll go in. Five on six sounds a bit more reasonable to me." Although Stefanaie claimed there was no leader in their four person band, the way everyone nodded to her wise orders told otherwise.  
  
Ramza followed the Knight, Summoner and Wizard as they ran down the hill trying to make as much noise as possible so that the soldiers would draw their attention away form the exhausted Agrias and it worked. The six of them fell back and Agrias collapsed to her knees, breathing deeply, as Remington shouted: "Hey! Why don't you try some of the spraint with us, boys!?"  
  
The oldest of the group, who wasn't much older than Ramza himself, stepped forwards and sneered, "And where did you come from, that a bunch of girls like you four think you can take us?"  
  
Stefanaie's eyes sparkled beneath the wide brim of her Wizard's hat and she raised three fingers. An arrow flew with surprising accuracy and hit the snide Knight in the heart. He gugrled slightly, stumbled back a few steps then fell. Agrias looked up, trying to find where the arrow had been shot from and the other soldiers paled.  
  
"Now." Stefanaie said, "We can do this bloodlessly, or I can introduce you to my charming friend Elitannia here. She's been training in Summoning, you know."  
  
A few of the Knights began to quiver, everyone knew that a fully trained Summoner was among one of the most dangerous things a person could ever run into in their lives. Not many people trained in the art, as it was difficult and strenious and often halved one's lifespan, but Elitannia didn't waver, only crossed her arms and smiled.  
  
Another uppity soldier spoke up, "She's naught' but a girl, and neither are you. We've still got the upper hand, lass. You'd better back off and let us deliver the good Captain here back to the castle or you're in for a world of hurt." he raised his sword threateningly.  
  
"Are you really sure you want to do that?" Stefanaie's voice took a turn for the innocent, "I honestly think we can settle this peacefully." she snapped her fingers and it seemed flames srping up from nowhere's under the soldiers's feet. The whole pack of the yelped and jumped, their boots singed and the fire still blazing below them. The youngest three ran but the older two remained, glaring defiantly at the Wizardess who just shrugged and snapped her fingers again, calling forth a lighting bolt, which was quite perculiar considering the skies were clear.  
  
One of the obviously knew what was good for him and tore after the other three. The last hesistated, as if he thought that he might be able to take on the four youths on his own, but realizing he was likely to get an arrow through his throat spun clumsily and called for the others to wait up for them.  
  
"Stefanaie, you're just too cool." Remington shook his head and Ramza couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Stefanaie bowed dramatically as Mustadio and Aston came up behind them, panting.  
  
"What the hell just went on down here?" Mustadio demanded, "There was a lightning storm... or... something."  
  
"That was just Stef showing off." Remington rolled his eyes.  
  
"Yes, because everyone else seemed too stunned to do anything. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I've just used up all the energy my body was saving to get me through the next three weeks. I've got to go drink an ether and pass out." She politely removed herself from the conversation and Ramza rushed to help Agrias up.  
  
The lady Knight brushed back her strewn hair and nodded thankfully at the small group, "Please accept my gratitude. I may not have escaped with my life if you hadn't intervened." her tone was even and sincere, but gave one the feeling that she would have prevailed despite their help. Mustadio chuckled under his breath.  
  
"Leave it up to the Captain to get herself neck deep in trouble, yet appear perfectly in control of the situation."  
  
"Where's Princess Ovelia!?" Ramza asked desperatley. Agrias expression mirrored his concern.  
  
"She's in great danger! They're planning to execute her at Golgorand in hours!" She peered over Ramza's shoulder at his newly found entourage, "Are they accompanying us?"  
  
Ramza nodded, "Yeah. They're friends from... er, school. We can trust them."  
  
"Alright. Introductions are in order, but we must move quickly."  
  
  
*  
  
  
The sun was dipping deep under the far hills and the first stars of nightfall had begun to show their faces. Gafgharion tapped the seconds away on his hilt, buried deep within the heavy cloak of an executioner. He was beginning to fear that the good Lady Oakes wouldn't show.  
  
"Come now, Agrias, you're much better than this. Where are you..."  
  
The girl struggled at the gallows, her dark brown eyes nearly closed and her neck chaffing at the noose tied tightly around her. Gafgharion continued muttering to himself: If Agrias didn't show up soon, that was it. He'd pull the switch and the entire thing would be over and now wouldn't that be a shame.  
  
"They're coming, Commander!" a young Knight atop the barracks called down following a sharp whistle. Gafgharion released a tense breath and pulled his black hood down further over his face to hide it.  
  
"A little tardy, Lady Oakes." he whispered, taking his position, "But we can still work with this."  
  
  
*  
  
  
"That's far enough!" Agrias shouted, looking as if she were ready to take on the entire Lionel army on her own despite the fact she was disheveled and had several open wounds scattering her body, "Return the Princess now!"  
  
Ramza scanned the dim execution ground catiously. The place was plain and un-apocolyptic, certainly not what one would expect from the site of St. Ajora's death. There was only the executioner and one gaurd, but the place was tense and silent. Why was there such lax security? Why were there no spectators? Witnesses? His eyes fixed themselves on Ovelia, her fine dress torn and bloodstained and her eyes trained downwards. But she looked up at exactly the wrong moment.  
  
Ramza gasped, "Agrias, that's not..."  
  
"Heh heh... you've all fallen into a trap." The executioner threw off his heavy, canvas cloak revealing himself to be Gafgharion, sword already drawn and eyes malicious. From behind him, four Knights and three archers slipped out of hiding. The faux-Ovelia easily came free of the noose and shook her hair free of it's barely-done braid, producing a blade fro within the folds of the Princess's red cape.  
  
Agrais's manner became wary, not like a woman defeated, but like a caged animal, "Should have known. You'll never change, Gafgharion... now where's the Princess."  
  
"In the castle. Where's the stone."  
  
"What stone?" Agrias oved like the expert swordswoman she was as Gafgharion came closer. Ramza wasn't sure who would win in a fight and he wasn't exactly anxious to find out, "I don't know anything about a stone."  
  
"Stop playing the fool, Captain. I'm talking about the Zodiac stone. The one blondie there stole from the Cardinal." he jerked his chin in Mustadio's direction, "Just have him hand it over."  
  
Mustadio backed away, fiddling with his gun, "If you want it, you're going to have to take it from me!"  
  
Remington, Aston and Elitannia meanwhile were mortally lost. They looked at Stefanaie questioningly, since she seemed to know what was going on, but the only answer they got was the perky Wizardess reaching tenatively for her own weapon.  
  
"Well, that's too bad. Anyways, before we kill you I've got a bit of a service to perform, a favor for a friend if you could call it that." He relaxed his sword and opened his arms in Ramza's direction, "Ramza! Come back to Igros where you belong! Your brother said he'd forgive you. You don't have to die unecessarily."  
  
Ramza was aware that Agrias and Mustadio were giving him looks. Shocked, 'what the hell is he talking about, Ramza?' looks, but the Beoulve was having a hard time understanding exactly what Gafgharion was trying to say.  
  
'Dycedarg said... he would forgive me?' his anger rose in his gut and began to show on his usually mild-mannered face, 'Did Dycedarg order Gafgharion to kill me if I didn't obey?'  
  
"No." he said firmly, moving closer to Agrias and celnching his teeth, "You can tell Dycedarg that I'm not like Zalbag! I won't be involved in anymore wrong doing just because he tells me it's alright!"  
  
" 'Wrong doing!?' " Gafgharion sputtered, "What do you mean boy!? You're a Beoulve! You have a mission to accomplish! 'Wrong doing' indeed. It's the life you were born into, don't be such a fool!"  
  
"My brother is making war for personal reasons!" Ramza shouted back, "What else can you call it other than evil!?"  
  
"Oh please." Gafgharion rolled his eyes dramatically nd took a few steps forwards, "I'd call it 'sacrifice'. You need it to accomplish anything. Without sacrifice there's no progress! No history! Look at Ivalice! It's Corrupt! Someone must change it, and that's what Dycedarg's trying to do! Listen, I don't like the guy anymore than you do, but he's got the right idea. Stop being so thick headed, boy. Think!"  
  
"No! I refused to let there be anymore helpless sacrifices like Teta!"  
  
"FORGET ABOUT FORT ZEAKDEN!" Gafgharion bellowed, throwing his head back in fustration, "It couldn't be helped! You're a Beoulve! You've a given duty, it's fate! Listen, kid, I like you. Don't throw you entire life away because of something you couldn't have helped!"  
  
"Is it fate that killed Teta?" Ramza growled, "Is it fate that let her die? She was only twelve years old! No, WE killed her! Yes, us, my family, the Beoulves! We killed her out of convinience! She didn't need to die, the only reason she did was that Dycedarg got lazy! I've run from the truth long enough, I'll never let my ignorance kill anyone again!"  
  
"Ramza, are you really a Beoulve?" Agrias asked softly, not letting her stance fall, but setting her dark blue eyes on Ramza heavily.  
  
Gafgharion laughed harshly, "What? You didn't know, Argias? Please tell me you didn't buy all that 'Ruglia' spraint. His name is Ramza Beoulve, the youngest of Balbanes sons and a runaway."  
  
"It's true." Ramza bit his lip and gaze at Agrias pleadingly, watching her eyes for signs of either approval or distrust, "But I'm not like my brothers! I didn't know about kidnapping the Princess! I swear it!"  
  
"This is ridiculoud!: Gafgharion cut in, clearly growinfg impatient, "ONE GIRL has died. So what? We must first think about 'justice'!"  
  
Ramza looked back to Gafgharion, gripping his sword in both hands again, "There's no justice in using and decieving people! I can't just ignore people dying in the name of 'justice'! I'll save the Princess, I don't care what you or my brothers say!"   
  
Ramza's burning anger was enough to propell him forwards although he realized he was being exceptionally foolish. He nearly caught Gafgharion offgaurd. The old mercenary hadn't been expecting Ramza to jump at him, but he gained his ground quickly, subduing the young Beoulve with his superior strength, skill, speed and experience. Ramza fell to the ground and winced as Gafgharion's blade fell towards him, but suddenly Agrias was threre, blocking the dark blade's descent. He marvelled at her as she easily parried Gafgharion's vicious assault even after her grueling day. If he had any doubt about Agrias's opinion of him, they were instantly dissolved. She had saved his life without a second thought, that was all the answer he needed.  
  
Ramza jumped to his feet in time to meet a younger soldier's blade and noticed that the small skirmish between the two older Knights had descended into a full blown meele. It was all a blur, all that mattered to Ramza was the sharp clanging of cold steel on cold steel and he fought madly for his own life; Here and there he heard the clap of thunder or the hiss of ice or saw an arrow flying by. Once, he even caught sight of Elitannia, emerald cloaks strewn aside and twirling a blunt, oak staff violently.  
  
Ramza found himself pinned against the gallows, his foe's face dripping sweat and blood. He brought his sword down, but Ramza stopped it desperately, feeling his weaking wrists buckle. He slide under the taller Knight's elbow and the blade drove itself into the rickety wooden structure. Ramza took this oppurtunity and drove his own sword into the other youth's side. He pushed and turned the hilt, forcing it in deep until he felt warm liquid running over his hands. He tried not to think of the nature of this liquid, tried to forget it was blood. He imagined the young Knight's life force draining from his body like ale from an unstopped keg.  
  
He pulled the sword from the dead Knight's body quickly, shoving it back into the hilt so he wouldn't have to stare at it, bloodied but still cold. The battle was over, the field around the gallows stained with blood and littered with dead bodies. Ramza looked them over carefully, but his friends were all lined up along the stubby wall, looking up.  
  
Gafgharion and Agrias were still battling and it didn't look like either of them were ready to fall. They had somehow made their way up to the roof of the barracks and as Ramza watched the seasoned masters, he realized for the first time the asthetic beauty of sword art. The ducked and slashed and blocked almost like it was a coordinated dance. If you forgot that the desire end result was death, it could be beautiful.  
  
Gafgharion leaned back, away from Agrias's blow and said haltingly, "Well, it doesn't appear that either of this are really in the condition to finish this fight. I'll be seeing you around." he snapped his fingers, much like Stefanaie had when frightening the knights who had been assaulting Agrias, and then he was gone.  
  
Agrias's eyes widened and she cursed, falling forwards. She caught herself, using her sword as a brace, "Dark magic," she muttered, looking around wildly, "That just isn't natural."  
  
"We should... rest before heading to the castle." Stefanaie removed her hat and wiped her brow, "And clean our clothes of..."  
  
"Yes." Ramza agreed, his voice small. He looked down at his bloodstained clothes and almost began to cry, "But not here."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
VII.  
'The Zodiac Stones are the ultimate Holy Relics  
The have the uncanny ability to fester out evil in all it's forms  
And destroy it with as much impunity as evil destorys good  
Perhaps, this ruthlessness is what makes them so potent  
Who knows what would happen if a Holy Stone fell into the hands  
Of someone... unworhty?'  
- From the Studies of Bishop Simon  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ovelia's food was once again untouched. Delita sighed when he saw this, but was not shocked. She hadn't been eating since the day Agrias left the castle. She'd just sit there and stare at the dirty floor, withering away and not caring.  
  
"You can't go on much longer without food." Delita said sensibly. She didn't look at him or answer, just shrugged her slender shoulders lightly as if he should've realized by now that was her intent. Delita tried again, "I know what you're trying to do, but it won't work. Don't you realize that no one will mourn your death? In fact, it should make most people happy. So if you think you're going to start some sort of revolution by starving yourself in this dungeon, you're deluded. There's no point in you dying so just eat the food!"  
  
Ovelia's usually calm eyes whipped up then, defiant and burning with anger, "I should have known you were in on SOMEONE'S plot! Why else would someone give me the time of day unless they had some sort of use for me."  
  
Delita shook his head, "You've got it all wrong, Ovelia."  
  
"Do I really?" Ovelia grinned showing all her teeth. It was a sarcastic expression made all the more ugly by the Princesses purity, "If you're not handing me over to Larg, then what do you plan to do with me, hmm? Am I going to be used a bargaining chip again, or perhaps the pretty figurehead of an army. Ohh, I think that would be best, dont you? Killing people in my name?"  
  
"None of that. I'm just going to take you somewhere you belong. That's all."  
  
"So you are using me." Ovelia's face fell as if she had finally convinced herself, "But you can't make me do what you want."  
  
"I don't really think you have too many other options right now, Princess." Delita's tone was irritated. He leaned his back against the prison wall and crossed his arms "If you want to live, that is."  
  
Ovelia was taken aback, "Was that a threat? I thought you didn't want me to die?"  
  
"It wasn't a threat."  
  
"Then what did you mean by it."  
  
"I meant that..." the secret meaning of Delita's words were cut off by the loud creak of the dungeon's door signifying the ominous entrace of two men. One was the Cardinal Draclau, drastically changed from the good natured man Ovelia had met upon entering Lionel castle, and the other was a Knight she had never met before. He was tall and broad in a muscular manner with a severly chisled face and dark, intelligent eyes. His wavy, chestnut hair was wisked back in a classy style and he wore dark purple robes, marked by the insigna of the Murondic church. Ovelia could tell that this was a dangerous man. He spoke.  
  
"So... she's Ovelia." it was more to himself that a general statement.  
  
The Cardinal attempted a kind smile, but Ovelia would not be fooled again, "How are you Princess?"  
  
"As fine as someone can be while tied up in a dungeon." she retorted, his expression darkened.  
  
"I hope you realize that you wouldn't be in here right now if you'd just behaved." Ovelia hmphed and turned her head. The dark Knight laughed and shook his head.  
  
"She's almost too good a substitute. Those old boys at the council really did their work, you can hardly tell she's not the real thing!"  
  
Ovelia's eyes flashed in his direction, and she noticed that even the stotic-faced Delita was looking to the mysterious Knight for answers.  
  
"Mr. Vormov." Draclau said delicately, "She hasn't been told."  
  
The Knight- this Vormov- stopped laughing abruptly. His face became gim, "I see... poor girl."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Ovelia asked breathlessly, not sure she really wanted to know. She could feel that pit of dread building inside her, the one that came whenever something horrible was about to happen. Only this time, it had something to do with her.  
  
Vormov leaned closer and talked as if he were trying to comfort a child, "Listen carefully... you are not a Princess."  
  
"W-what?"  
  
"The real Princess died a long time ago. You're just a substitute. A back up plan, just in case."  
  
Ovelia's mind took those words in far too easily and she was afraid that she might start believing them. She drew away from the man as if he were hot irons and closed her eyes, "No. You're lying to me!"  
  
"It's not a lie." the Knight continued breezily, "You are not Ovelia. Old senators didn't care much for the Princess Luveria so they made you to take the throne someday, outsing the real Princess. They killed two older Princes, in fact, and made it look like an illness just so you could take the center stage. Omodolia would be too weak to rule, so you'd take the throne." he raised up to his full hight and made a fist. His voice didn't sound angry though, only amused, "However, Orinas was born. Even now, no one knows whether he's really the King's son. There's been a nasty rumor floating around for the past few years that Larg may have had some 'seeds' planted to make his sister royal-mother. In any case, the old men's plan was ruined."  
  
"Liar!" Ovelia insisted, rufusing to even make an attempt to listen. He couldn't know what he was saying to her. Even if it was the truth, why did she have to know about it? Killing, plotting, lying, all for her sake? It was horrible, everything she loathed done in her name. And for what? So she could be a puppet? Was that her only purpose in life, to be used? "I don't believe any of it!"  
  
"Think what you will. It doesn't matter to me." Vormov shrugged, "All that matters is that you're called a 'Princess'. No one else knows the truth and that makes you the ace up our sleeve."  
  
"What are you going to do with me?"  
  
"Nothing. Just be a 'Princess' as you are now."  
  
Something in the Knight's tone made Ovelia shudder. Slowly, she looked at him, doing the best to form a snarl on her lips, "My ancestors were Atkachas! You can't control me!"  
  
Vormov snarled right back, "Then what? If Larg catches you, you'll be killed right? We just want to help you take the throne."  
  
Liars, all of them. All these men who pretended to be her friends, even the handsome dark haired boy who offered to save her life. She wanted to fight them, but she also wanted to curl up in a corner and die. What made her life worth living? She was just a doll, a pawn. What's the point of living if you'll never have any free will. She lowered her eyes submissively, "Who are you?" she sobbed, "What do you all want from me?"  
  
"We're allies of neither Larg or Goltana. Just collaborators."  
  
The Cardinal placed a hand on Vormov's shoulder, "Vormov, we should let her calm down. Once she comes to her senses she won't refuse our help." Ovelia got the feeling that she wasn't supposed to have heard that.  
  
'Sorry.' she thought sarcastically, 'I forgot... puppets don't even listen unless their told it's alright.'  
  
"You're probably right." Vormov replied in that same tone. Ovelia wanted to tell them she wasn't stupid, but doubted that even she believed it.  
  
The two older men left, but Delita lingered a moment, approaching Ovelia and kneeling next to her, "You should really eat. It'll be a three day journey, but I promise things will be better once we get to Zeltennia."  
  
Ovelia locked eyes with him for a moment, asking him silent questions with her gaze. She assumed his answer was something akin to a mental shrug as he avoided the subject: 'What are you really trying to do? Why are you trying to make me think you care about me as a person? I'm not a person, remember. Just a wind-up toy in the hands of overgrown children.'  
  
"Delita! Let's go!" The dark haired boy rose quickly and left, leaving Ovelia alone and confused with her own conflicted thoughts. She pressed her cheek against the cold stone of the dungeon floor and secretly hoped that she'd be dead by the time she woke up.  
  
  
*  
  
  
"Can you imagine what it's like not to be?"  
  
Ramza looked up fro his washing surprised. Aston was a timid little boy and didn't speak often and to suddenly coe out of nowhere and ask such a vauge, philosiphical question. Ramza shrugged, not sure what the young archer wanted hi to say, and watch the blood soak off his shirt in the river, creating light red rings in the water.  
  
"Why do you ask?"  
  
"Well... you seem a little discotent after that last battle."  
  
"Of course I am!" Ramza wrung his shirt with increasing vigor, "I killed someone. That's never a nice feeling. I don't... I just don't like killing people."  
  
"Well, neither do I. Do you think just because you're a noble you shouldn't have to get your hands dirty? In war, everyone kills. Even milk maidens."  
  
Ramza let the laundry fall back into the water with a wet splash, "Are you going to start treating me differently because I'm a Beoulve? Aren't you a noble too?"  
  
Aston crossed his legs and sighed, pulling his own shirt out of the cool water and letting it wave in the breeze, "Sort of. I was a war orphan, but Stefanaie's father adopted me, much like your father with the Hyral kids. Anyways, Mr. Arlock was in the employ of the Bart company. That made Stef and I as good as nobles in the eyes of the Gariland administrator. Nevertheless, I've probably killed more people in my life than you've met."  
  
"And you're proud of that?" Ramza had thought Aston was quiet, shy and nervous manner and now here he was talking like a seasoned warrior. Talking like he was... Gafgharion.  
  
'Was this what Gafgharion was like fourty years ago? Quiet, thoughtful and ruthless?'  
  
"No, I'm anything but proud but I do it because I have to."  
  
"You don't have to..." Ramza stood and shook his partically clean shirt in the breeze, "No one has to kill."  
  
"If I didn't kill, I'd be dead by now. Face it, Beoulve, in the end our base instincts tell us to keep ourselves alive. Now answer my question. Can you imagine what it's like not to be?"  
  
Ramza rolled the words on his tounge before saying them, and even then he wasn't sure, "Um... no. I don't, but I'd imagine it would be something like sleeping... only a very deep sleep."  
  
Aston folded his laundry over his arm and shook his head, "No. That's not it at all. I know it's not, because sleep is pleasant, comfortable. Whatever happens after you die must be horrible, otherwise people wouldn't fight so hard to avoid it." he left before Ramza had a chance to reply.  
  
Ramza thought very hard about this, and laid his slowly drying shirt on the ground, carefully pulling his sword out of it's sheath. He stared at the blood on it's length before plunging it deep into the running water.  
  
'Not being... is it really fear of death that makes people fight? Am I afraid to die?' he thought about his first real battle. It seemed like so long ago, back at Gariland with those theives. He remembered those dreadful few seconds between the knife digging into his side and Stefanaie dragging him off into the alley. They were blurry, but from what he could remember they were some of the worst seconds of his life, up there with the moments of Teta's death and his ruminations about Delita's certain doom- and he hadn't even been close that time.  
  
'But just beause the alternative is your own death, does that still make it right?' Then Ramza thought about never seeing Alma again and suddenly, he didn't care anymore.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Gafgharion barely made it to the castle before them. The Teleport spell could only be used once at the best of times and it wouldn't carry one very far. Aside from that, he was heavily injured. His battle with Lady Oakes had been more trying that he would admit even to himself, but he would still prevail.  
  
This time he had no support. They were all dead and he very well couldn't go and ask the Cardinal for another chance. He knew what those stones could do and facing Draclau now would be worse than being eaten alive by rats.  
  
'I could just leave. Run to Riovanes or Limberry and forget I ever even took this job in the first place. Take some time off to regain my strength and go on with life as usual.' he laughed at himself, because as tantalizing as the idea was, he knew it was not an option.  
  
First of all, he had his proffesionalism to worry about. He'd never given up on a job before and he wasn't about to make this one a first.   
  
Second of all, this job had become somewhat personal to him. He hadn't been lying when he had said he liked Ramza, but the boy had problems dealing with reality. If he could die having taught the mule-headed youngster one lesson it wouldn't be a waste. Ramza was Balbanes only true son, as far as Gafgharion could see, and he didn't want such brilliant genes annihilated by the world simply because their owner had problems moving on.  
  
Thirdly, there was Lady Oakes. True her hatred burnt at him like nothing ever had, Gafgharion knew he could never die happy unless she was there to watch. He didn't even know why he tried, why he was so persistent. His casual adoration for her had slowly mutated into a mutual hatred over the years, but God, did the woman know how to wield a sword. She also knew how to cut someone with her eyes and words and for some reason, those abusive tendancies were always the ones foolish men treasured.  
  
"Well, well. How the mighty have fallen." Gafgharion chuckled at the iron, and braced himself against the castle wall to meet Agrias's eyes. She twisted her pretty lips, "You look like spraint. You just don't give up, do you?"  
  
"Just this one last battle!" he croaked, surprised at how broken his own voice was, "Then I'll die a cotented old man."  
  
Agrais corssed her arms and made no move towards her sword hilt, "Forget about it, Gafgharion. I won't give you peace no matter how you plead. I'd rather you suffer."  
  
"Not you, not you!" Gafgharion raised an arm weakly and pointed at Ramza, who jumped as if pulled out of his imaginary world (which was where he most likely had been), "Ramza is the one who must fight me!"  
  
"Me... me?" Ramza nodded and got his sword out, but didn't look too certain, "You're too weak. It's hardly fair."  
  
"Then don't do it Ramza. He's full of spraint, let's just go rescue the Princess. He'll die within a few hours, it's not worth it." Agrias's words were unusally biting. Gafgharion realized that the 'two hundred seconds' game had probably not raised her opinion of him much.  
  
"Come on, Ramza. I'm not so far gone that I can't give you a challenge." He steadied himself on his feet and raised his sword, "Now fight me! En garde!" he rushed at Ramza, who then had no choice but to engage in the battle.  
  
Gafgharion had never seen the youngest of the Beoulve males fight before and noted that he was awkward with a sword. Although he was just and righteous without trying in the tradition of his father, all the old man's fencing skills had been wasted on Zalbag.  
  
Still, Ramza was quick and had a fast mind. He caught on to Gafgharion's tricks easily and soon was moving and twirling like the Gariland graduate he was. His friends watched on silently, but most of them were biting their lips, hands tense on respective weapons in case Gafgharion should suddenly prove himself to be more than a wounded, dying man.  
  
He hadn't meant it, really. His feet were tired and one of his boots caught on a stone, sending him plummeting backwards. To the audience he suspected it looked like he was giving Ramza an opportunity. Agrias's eyebrow shot up as she analyzed his seeming act of charity but Ramza knew the turth. The unfaltering Gaff Gafgharion had finally faltered giving him just enough time to raised his sword and jam it through the old mercenary's jugular.  
  
Gafgharion had just enough time to see the expression on Ramza's face- the frozen lips and unblinking eyes- and know he had suceeded. He had forced the youngest Beoulve to kill in cold blood a disadvantaged opponent and he had forced his to do it with real malice.  
  
Ramza Beoulve had finally grown up.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Ramza walked ahead of the others as they stalked through the castle, ignoring pestering chamber gaurds and house maids. He didn't really feel like himself. He still held to both his sword and the fresh memory of how Gafgharion died under that blade, blood gushing from the wound in his neck like fountain as he tumbled dead to the ground. He felt remorseful, but not enough that he was mentally berating himself or drowning in self hatred.  
  
'Is this wrong? Or have I reached my limit. Kill four people and suddenly you're an expert on the subject? Or maybe... maybe I finally understand war.' Not that there was much to understand. War was horrible and it ruined lives. End of story.  
  
Ramza threw open the Cardinal's door with the force of a hurricane, but it seemed that good Cardinal Draclau had been expecting them. He was standing on the rise in front of his desk, his back turned to the door. Something about the calm way he was standing made Ramza stop at the bottom step and wait for the man to speak.  
  
"Gafgharion is not as good as he claims... or was it bad luck?" he turned on the small gathering, a sick smile painted across his fat face, "Anyhow, you're good. I won't deny it, afterall, you have Beoulve blood running through your veins, even if you are a bastard child." Ramza winced. His mother had always been a sore spot for him, one Dycedarg had always enjoyed poking at, "But I don't require your interference anymore." The Cardinal continued, "Leave the stone here or I'll show no mercy."  
  
"Where the Princess!" Ramza demanded.  
  
The Cardinal frowned, "Why, why, WHY must you save her? You deserted the Beoulves. What can you change yourself? Don't waste energy. Without 'power', nothing can be achived. You're powerless."  
  
"Where's the Princess!?" Ramza would have rushed forwards if not for the two hands on his shoulders restrainging him. One belonging to Agrias, the other to Mustadio.  
  
"What's wrong with you Ramza?" Agrias hissed, her fingers sharp and firm on his collarbone.  
  
"Don't push yourself. Something's not right." Mustadio echoed Agrias's concern, "Something bad's about to happen."  
  
Ramza let his shoulders fall and calmed himself, taking deep breaths, 'What is wrong with me...'  
  
"Ovelia's not here anymore. She left for Zeltennia hours ago. In the end, she chose our help over yours."  
  
"That's a lie." Agrias replied with certainty, "Ovelia would never accept your help. It would mean losing her freedom again."  
  
"Quite the contrary, Captain, Ovelia has just begun to think for herself. She chose us for the obvious reasons... to take the throne. Why don't you join us? You can get the best of the Hokuten, and the little Beoulve here can finally out do his brothers. We care about the world too, how about it?"  
  
"What's with all this 'we' business." Mustadio muttered, his hand still on Ramza's shoulders. Ramza ignored him glared at the Cardinal, disgusted.  
  
"You don't know what we want at all! I don't want to change the world! No one can do that! No one's reckless enough to think they can!"  
  
The Cardinal seemed amused by the proceedings, "Well, then what do you want, Ramza Beoulve?"  
  
"I just don't want people to suffer and die needlessly."  
  
"But can you really speak for all you party?" Draclau's eyes fell on Mustadio, "What about your little Engineer friend here? After all, he's holding a stone, and don't stones posses the power to change not only the world, but the truth of everything with it's power?"  
  
Mustadio had been instinctively running his fingers over the small sack on his belt where the stone was held. He drew his hand away guiltily and hung his head, "No, I... that's not what I want either. I don't know what you're talking about..."  
  
The Cardinal tapped his thumb against his chin and made a loud smacking noise with his lips, "How... unfortunate. You don't understand. Well then, I suppose I'll have to show you..."  
  
The Cardinal unfolded his hand, revealing the Holy Stone he had shown Mustadio during the first visit to the caslte. He mumbled something in a language Ramza didn't understand and the entire room was illuminated with blinding, red light. Ramza sheilded his eyes and through the blu he could see the large figure of the Cardinal engulfed. It slowly grew and twisted, mutating and curling until the red smoke cleared.  
  
"Oh... dear lord..." Elitannia backed into the wall and Remington galianty spilt his lunch. Stefanaie only cocked her pistol, green eyes wide as Aston's hand emerged from his quiver, four arrows between his fingers.  
  
The Cardinal was gone. In his place was the lucid, but still flickering image of a grotesque creature, like something out of an old October-fest story. It's wide, grinning mouth was full of rotted and decaying teeth, sharp as razors and crooked. His body was nothing more than a sheet of dull-green leathery skin, stitched together at the middle to hold in the sloppily arranged intestines that seemed to be all but falling out of him. Embedded in his forehead was the Zodiac Stone. The creature bared it's claws, large, glimmering sickles potruding from each doughy limb, and laughed. It's voice was terrible and booming, it seemed to come from everywhere yet focused at a single point, and along with it there was this hich pitched ringing. Ramza cupped his ears but he couldnt escape the din.  
  
"Now do you see? The limitless power? I've suprassed mere human frailty and in essence become a God! You mortals will never understand, you're brains are too under developed to grap the great and wonderful concepts of the master! The teachings of the Lucavi."  
  
'Lucavi, Lucavi...' the words sounded familiar, but the ringing continued even after the beast stopped talking, 'That should mean something to me but why can't I... why don't I remember...'  
  
The room began to tilt as a musky, nerve-numbing smoke began to fill the room. Ramza took his hands away from his ears and steadied himself against the wall. The monster was trying to throw them off gaurd so it would have a chance to kill them.  
  
'Not today...' Ramza stumbled and fell through the mess, hpoing that at the very least, Agrias would follow. Unfortunately, it seemed her body had taken too much abuse already and she slumped in the corner, barely concious but still clutching her sword. Ramza pressed onwards, though, he couldn't allow the others to die. This was his and Agrias's mess. Maybe even Mustadio's. But Remington, Elitannia, Stefanaie and Aston shouldn't have to die because of the enemies they had made.  
  
He blacked out for a moment, then came to at the feet of the creature. He got to his feet, head clearing a bit and raised his sword, only to be thrown back by a red glow. He cried out and cowered, his entire body infused with bright, burning pain. Then he understood.  
  
"Mustadio!" he cried out, voice hoarse and warped by the ringing, "Mustadio! Shoot it! Shoot the... the Zodiac stone!" he couldn't be certain whether the mechanic was in a state to process the words, or if he was even concious. Ramza slumped and played the waiting game, but sure enough the loud snp of gun shot sliced through the ringing and a quick bullet hit the stone. It didn't crack, but the noise and smoke both stopped as the creature reeled backwards a few steps.  
  
Ramza didn't wait. He cut his sword upwards with a loud grunt. He only severed three of the stitches, but that was enough. The creature howled, his dying cry like the screams of a thousand souls. It wasn't pretty and Ramza was caught beneath the barrage of putrid monster gut. He flailed his arms madly and gasped for breath only to find none.  
  
"Help!" he tried to call, "Agrias! Mustadio! Stefanaie!"  
  
He went all dizzy as his lungs burned for air and he gave up. His muscles all went limp and he offered himself up to the darkness. There was another blinding flash of red, then suddenly, there was no dead body on top of him. Just Ramza sprawled out on the dusty ground staring at the celing and clutching th Zodiac Stone to his chest.  
  
He blinked a few times and tired to sit up, only to find his joints stiff and achy. He fell back to the floor and stared some more. Eventually, Mustadio and Agrias entered his vision, both looking a little pale, but no worse for the wear.  
  
"Hey, Ramza, you alive?" Mustadio snapped his fingers, trying to promt a reaction from his prone friend.  
  
Ramza nodded weakly, a lost thought occuring to him, "The Cardinal... er... the creature he became... he said he was a Lucavi."  
  
"Yes." Agrias looked conflicted, "He did say that, didn't he."  
  
"But... I thought that the stone's power was holy. That it was supposed to destroy evil itself. But the Lucavi were..."  
  
"Don't wrack your brain right now, Ramza." Agrias soothed, "We've all been through a lot. We'll figure something out later."  
  
Ramza nodded again, "Yes... later." he closed his eyes, and although he was completely aware that lying in the middle of a dead man's floor was certainly not an appropiate place to sleep he allowed the black to wash over him and carry away his conflicts.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
VIII.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"You're the one who saved Ovelia?"  
  
The boy bowed graciously and hastily, dropping to one knee and bowing his head so that it almost hit the floor, "Delita Hyral, Black Sheep Knight under Baron Grimes. I was sent by order of the Baron to save the Princess. I've completed my mission."  
  
"Hyral?" Minister Gelwan raised a very blonde eyebrow, "Never heard of you."  
  
"The Baron died last month in an attack by the Ryomuken." Goltana echoed his first Minister's speculation, "I heard the the entire Black Sheep unit was wiped out."  
  
"That's why I returned." the young soldier answered smoothly, still one one knee but having raised his eyes."  
  
"How's the Princess." Goltana glanced at his advisors. The eldery Kababrif came forwards with an answer.  
  
:Sleeping soundly, sir. She's exhausted from the long trip. She's been through a lot."  
  
"I heard you brought a Prisoner." Orlandu still eyed the guest with only one eye. The other was turned to the boy's sword.  
  
The boy leapt to attention, "Yes sir. Bring him in!" a castle gaurd entered the large meeting room restraining an all too willing young Nanten. He threw him to the ground roughly at the feet of the Black Sheep Knight, "Why did you kidnap the Princess?" he asked loudly, signifying that the Knight was to answer for the entire audience.  
  
"We wanted to frame Goltana to prevent him from taking Lesalia and therefor taking the regency."  
  
"And who gave that order?" the boy continued, "Prince Larg?"  
  
The prisoner shook his head, "No. It was one of Goltana's aides."  
  
"Ridiculous!" Gelwan excalimed, flustered, "No aide would ever do that! Orlandu, silence this lout!"  
  
Goltana made a calming motion with his hands, "Listen, Gelwan, listen..."  
  
"Thank you, majesty." The boy bowed again, but only slightly this time, the returned to questioning, "Who was that aide?" the prisoner hesistate, "Talk! Now!"  
  
"Will you spare my life?" the prisopner had obviously meant it to be a private question, but with the hush and echo of the large room, everyone had heard his cowardly plea.  
  
"If that;s what you really want. Now, who was it?"  
  
The prisoner's finger homed in on the Minister Gelwan like a child blaming an accident on a younger brother. The Minister acted out instantly with rage, signifying his guilt.  
  
"How dare you!" he fumed, "It's a lie! I don't even know this man!"  
  
"What made you betray your Lord, Gelwan?" the young Knight sneered, drawing his sword. As he did so, Orlandu's hand fell to his own hilt, "Were you secuced by the Queen? How sickening."  
  
Gelwan's face was white as a ghost and he had broken out in a cold sweat, "This is insane. I don't know anything!"  
  
"Treason is a serious crime, Minister." the Knight chided.  
  
"I said I don't know anything! I..." Obviously the young Black Knight lost patience. He thrust forwards and drove his sword through the Minister's stomach. When he withdrew it, the blade immedietly returned to it's sheath, but Orlandu didn't relax his gaurd. As Minister Gelwan lay writhing and bleeding to death on the floor, the Knight bowed for a third time, on his knees again.  
  
"Let me say this!" he began, appleasingly, "We must go to the Capital with the Nanten now, or you may be held responsible for this plot! First, we must remove The Queen and Prince Orinas, then place Ovelia on the throne. Please, Lord Goltana. It's the only way!"  
  
Goltana leaned forwards in his chair, as if in deep consideration. Orlandu exchaged a befuddled glance with his son, Olan, then shook his head. Who was he, this Delita Hyral, to waltz into Goltana's meeting room preteding to be humble and loyal only to tell the man what to do with his army? The boy may have had a point, but Orlandu had a feeling tusting him would ultimately be Goltana's downfall.  
  
To his horror, Goltana nodded slowly, "Yes. I think that may just be the thing to do..."  
  
  
*  
  
  
'Goltana went to Lesalia and confined Ruvelia in Bethla for kidnapping the Princess and allowed for Ovelia to acceed the throme. But Larg insisted Orinas was the legitimate heir to the sucessor and had him acceed instead.Larg became the regent as gaurdian immedietly. His first action was to send to Hokuten, led by Orinas to Bethla to rescue the Queen. Meanwhile, Goltana sent the Nanten, led by Oveliam, to take care of things in Lesalia and Bethla. This was the beginning of the uphevel which would later be called 'The Lion War'...'  
- The Durai Reports, Chapter III 


	5. Interested in reading Chapter 3? Look no...

If you are interested in Reading Chapter Three as it is written, check out my livejournal at:  
  
www.livejournal.com/~cephiedvariable  
  
The first chunk is posted on 14/10/2003. Hope you enjoy and sorry for making you all wait so long!  
  
*sincerely  
  
Jenn Sparky Young aka Izzy Girl aka Cephied Variable 


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